


Turn This Way Now Or

by EllieGemini



Category: Life Is Strange
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-15 07:59:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4598970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieGemini/pseuds/EllieGemini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beginning the Saturday of Life Is Strange's fateful week in Arcadia Bay, we follow Victoria, Taylor, Max, and Chloe as they deal with the events and struggles of the previous five days, as well as the interpersonal issues that have arisen between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Maribeth

**Author's Note:**

> If all goes as planned, this is the first of several chapters dealing with the week after the events of Life Is Strange. What occurred during the week, and the ultimate resolution of the game's story, is something the reader does not necessarily know at first, but inferences can be made based on character dialogue, events, etc.
> 
> For updates about this fic on Tumblr, please follow me at the URL CombatBae.

Victoria drifted hazily in and out of a dream about green stars floating across the black ocean. Her phone was going off, vibrating on the floor. Probably a text from Taylor. For a moment Victoria considered ignoring it, swimming back into that cold glow that rocked her back and forth. But then two things occurred to her.

The first thing was that it might be about Taylor's mom. Did she have another operation today? Her head deep in swim, she couldn't remember. But it was important. She didn't want to leave Taylor hanging.

The second thing was her arm around the warm, bare waist of Max Caulfield, asleep next to her. Oh yes. That. She'd nearly forgotten about that.

'Oh my God,' she thought, losing the soft memory of her dream for good. 'What is wrong with this girl?' And she shook her head, knowing that was the wrong question to ask, and irrelevant for at least ten reasons. Not that there wasn't a lot wrong with Max Caulfield. There definitely was. This was established fact and acknowledged openly by literally everyone who wasn't Alyssa Anderson. ('Is her last name Anderson? Why do I even know that. Ugh. Who cares.')

She rubbed her eyes and looked around the room. Phone screen dimming to black, only the bright light of morning filtering in around the edges of the blackout blinds remained. Clothes were strewn all over the floor of 221, not all of them her own. And a scrawny brunette lay asleep beside her, evidently wearing nothing.

Waking up with a strange feeling about her actions on the morning after was a perpetual state for Victoria Chase. Hooking up with Max Caulfield was a new one.

Ears ringing from the sudden rush of finding herself naked next to the person she assumed was her only actual enemy, Victoria felt the first of several pangs of guilt. To begin with, she'd made a promise to Taylor that she would call after the memorial service. Despite hours of texts begging to come along, the proud socialite had gone on her own. Unable to explain why, Victoria could only say that she wanted to do this alone.

In Taylor’s view, this was another instance of Victoria’s ‘I can take on anything by myself’ attitude problem. To Victoria, it was just her own way to process things. Typically “process” meant photographs, essays, and pressure from her parents (real or imagined, depending on whether you were asking her or Taylor). This time it was a little- a lot- different.

Compounding things, it hadn't been an easy choice to leave Taylor back at Blackwell. Not like it usually was. Lately, things between the pair had been a degree more intimate. Maybe it was all the time they were spending at the hospital, biding hours together as her mother slept. They'd bonded- and more than Victoria had intended or would admit to.

Looking back, she found it surprising that it had come to this. It was a fait accompli that friendships stayed at arm's length. They served a purpose, and had a place. Typical queen bee shit, maybe. But Victoria didn't care. Blackwell was her opportunity to launch. To do that, she needed a few things- hard work, connections to prestigious talent, networking, and social capital. The hard work she could deal with. Check. Mark Jefferson, true heavyweight in the photography world and the reason she’d come to Blackwell, was more prestige and networking than she could've dreamed of. So check there too. And finally she had at least two or more devoted, connected friends to help propel her upwards socially. Check, check, check. The perfect well-rounded social elite who happened to be a world-class photographer and, oh yes, rich as well.

Like most plans, it didn't last three weeks. Victoria made an awful mistake: She walked in and found Taylor on the floor, sunk against her couch crying. Instead of walking away like she should have, she felt suddenly overwhelmed and sad. Her beautiful friend, trying to keep long blonde hair out of teary sobs, crying alone like an abandoned child. It was an alien impulse that drove her to it, but Victoria got down on her knees and wrapped her arms around Taylor. For ten long minutes she just sobbed into an expensive sweater. But Victoria didn't let go. "It's ok Taylor. Let it out, Sweet-T. I'm here," she repeated softly, again and again. It didn't even bother her to use the particularly lame nickname that Taylor self-applied the first week they met. Whatever would help. For a moment her own throat tightened up as if she might cry too. Victoria felt this should've annoyed her. But it didn't.

Taylor cried. Victoria held her. And just like that, she had screwed up the entire plan. Which was becoming a habit, judging by the girl currently drooling into her pillow.

Shaking her head, she reached for the phone. Her long, slender fingers groped through the semi-dark of the dormitory morning, across a white button down and a black bra that was definitely not her size. The phone was just out of reach, of course. Perhaps three inches more. She held her breath and strained as softly as one can strain. But it just wasn't going to happen. Exhaling (much more loudly than she intended), she thought for a moment, feeling like a child up earlier than her parents on a weekend. Any move might shake the whole place and wake up the snoozing, naked hipster.

Victoria couldn't believe she didn't call Taylor after she'd forced her to stay behind. But then again, she could. What would she have said? "Hey Taylor. Kind of having a weird interlude with Max Caulfield and by the way I know you and I have super obvious feelings for each other and recently some complicated stuff happened but I'm pretty sure I'm gonna strip Max naked shove her down onto my bed and fumble around with her like a fourteen year old lol TTFN!" That would've been a fun conversation. Hard to believe she'd pass on a chance to have it. Almost as hard to believe that it happened at all.

Making up her mind that Max would have to wake up sometime, Victoria stepped out of bed, bare feet landing on a soft, crumpled pair of black dress pants that felt cool against her skin. Silently she stood, waiting to hear the dry, typically-combative voice of the princess she'd surely woken up. But it never came. Max didn't even shift in bed. Victoria took note that she was a heavy sleeper with a scoff. Internally she struggled to admit being a heavy sleeper wasn't actually something one could legitimately judge someone for.

Outside of her bed, the room was chilly, and goosebumps spread across Victoria’s pale body in seconds. Snatching her phone, she bundled back up into the blankets. All her opinions about Max aside, at least she was a decent source of heat. For a moment she suppressed a cool laugh over a cruel joke- Max, hot air, being filled with it. Almost immediately she grimaced at herself. It wasn't a particularly good joke. At least she hadn't said it out loud. Victoria felt capable of selling almost any rude comment. But that one? Maybe not.

The phone screen lit up at her touch. And it was Taylor, of course.

"Hey Vic. I hope you're OK. Call me. <3"

"Stella said she saw you and Max having an intense conversation at the service. I hope she didn't start any shit with you there. That girl does not know when to back off!"

"Victoria please call me. I'm worried."

"I'm going to bed but call me OK? My phone volume is up so I'll wake up for you."

"Vic? I'm worried about you. I want to give you your space on this one like you asked but I'm really getting concerned. Please call me."

And for the second time that morning, Victoria Chase felt a pang of guilt that overwhelmed her senses. She stood up and threw the covers roughly back down on the bed. Clothes. She wanted to get dressed. For a moment she considered the wrinkled Givenchy that laid across the floor, but quickly moved on to her closet. Nothing that had touched Max Caulfield. None of it. Clean. She wanted to be clean.

Yanking open drawers, she threw on a pale pink shirt and green shorts. Out. She needed out. Maybe a shower would help. Wash off the Max Caulfield reeking on her skin. Literally. She smelled like Max- that awful secondhand store stink of someone trying desperately to be unique with stupid printed tees and old jean jackets and- ugh. Yes. A shower.

Hand on the doorknob, she stopped. If she went into the hallway she'd risk seeing Taylor, and anyone else who might see Taylor. Or what if Max woke up and left the room before she got back? As ideal as that seemed at the moment, it definitely wasn't her greatest plan. Anybody could spot her. Plus, something of paramount importance occurred to her- no way in hell was she taking a walk of shame from her own room after a one night stand with Max Caulfield. That honor was Max's.

As satisfying as that was definitely going to be, it still left the elephant in the room. (She despised that expression.) What was she going to tell Taylor? Victoria imagined herself as something of a lie artist. Start at the beginning, and weave half truths until it was believable. Craft a lie to cover this up? It could be done.

Gliding across the room, she took a seat at her desk. Max's bag was on the floor. 'What's the harm?' Victoria thought sarcastically as she opened it up. After all, they'd already- nope. She wasn't going to finish that thought. Reaching in, she pulled out an old polaroid camera. In short, it was a piece of shit. If today was 1998, this would've been a pretty nice camera ten years ago. Under that were some shots Max had taken the day before. Immediately Victoria felt annoyed in a way she could easily deny as jealous. This was her standard response to Max's work.

She held the first photo at an angle to catch the light from the window that had found a way in: Kate's sister Lynn (according to the writing on the back), framed perfectly, sitting with her face in her hands next to a large, round concrete planter outside the funeral home, half-wilted blue and white flowers drooping to match her pose. When had she taken this? Before Victoria showed up, obviously. Just how early had Max gotten there?

When Victoria arrived at the memorial service, she felt anxious. A small line led up to the closed coffin, and for a moment she joined it. In front of her a neatly-dressed woman of perhaps 30 was crying as she wrote a message for the family in a guestbook the funeral home had set up on a dark brown podium. Guilt (of a very different variety) crept in, and her clothes felt warm. Clutching a small handbag close to her side, she stepped out of line with a polite nod at the middle-aged man next to her.

Lines of chairs faced the front of the room. Victoria stood between the last two rows and took a deep breath. Maybe she would leave? No. She wanted to be Blackwell's representative in all things. The poster girl. In this case there was compelling evidence that she’d already fucked up. If there was any chance of selling the fiction that she hadn't played a big part in shoving Kate down a very short path, she had to be here, appearing grief-stricken-but-strong.

All this, of course, was an act. She definitely felt no real remorse for her actions. Right? Maybe if Kate hadn't gotten so trashed and crazy at night after preaching all day she wouldn't have had to-

Victoria didn't have time to finish her half-hearted internal justifications. Max Caulfield was quickly approaching with the self-righteous look she wore everywhere like a cheap secondhand cardigan. Little sheriff of everyone's feelings, selfie-princess Caulfield.

Typical sanctimonious fire in her eyes, it seemed like Max might cause a scene in the middle of a visitation. Instead, she nodded towards the side of the room with that weird little peanut head of hers. Victoria responded with a nod she hoped would appear detached. But the effect was lost. Max had already turned, moving away from the grieving family members (and, incidentally, Stella. But she was a confirmed pothead, and why was she even there? It wasn't like she actually cared about Kate.) Cheeks warm, Victoria followed.

Before Max could even speak, Victoria raised a hand to stop her. And for a moment things were quiet; Max making that angry puppy face and Victoria looking anywhere else as she composed the perfect sentence. "I feel bad. I don't expect you to believe me, and I don't care what your opinion on the matter is anyway."

"Sure, Victoria. You seemed really upset wh-"

And Victoria cut her off: a quick, hushed sentence that indicated she felt the conversation was over. "We've already talked about it Max. I messed up. But you can't punish me. You don't have the right."

Max did not get the message. "You didn't have the right to post a video of Kate online after she was drugged. To leave the link literally everywhere," spoken with her usual passion, which to Victoria was just maddening. Max Caulfield, defending every weak thing that ever drew breath.

Deciding it was useless to point out that she didn't post the video, Victoria settled for squeezing her nose right between the eyes and letting out a frustrated huff. "Look. Can we both agree this is not the venue?"

Turning away from Max, she found her eyes on the front of the room. A stiff, stern looking mother coldly shaking hands. A father, drained out and empty, eyes still red. Two sisters, navigating a dark landscape with a torn map. And Kate.

Victoria was overwhelmed by the slow ice in her guts. That feeling of life as it fails to become stronger at the broken places. This tiny champion of small creatures and their big hearts wouldn't buy it, but she could hear it echoing in her head. All the justifications she could muster weren't stronger than this. So many people milling about with no answers. And what answer could there be? Someone they had loved was never coming back. She'd become a half-sleep dream and drifted off with the light of day. They couldn't stop it.

Victoria cleared her throat. "Anyway, you've done enough Max. Like I said the last time we attempted to talk about it... At least you tried." That ache returned and she took a breath. And another. Then she continued. "Things have been very stressful and just weird the past few weeks. This week especially. I'm ready to... Get back to normal." But she regretted saying it. Obviously that wasn't an option for the people in this room. Looking out at the pale purple walls, the soft generic paintings, the calculated comforts, Victoria felt ill.

Taking a few steps, she found a couch and sat down as gracefully as she could- not that she was certain it was actually graceful. Eyes closed, she felt the slight shift of the couch as Max sat down beside her. Victoria couldn't be sure if she was grateful or annoyed. Neither of them had attempted to speak to the other since the End of The World party, and their conversation had been strained, to say the least. The rest of the night had been a blur of alcohol, dancing, gossip, and elation.

Not that she ever wanted to hear the words "Everyday Hero" again. In fact, she definitely didn't. Mr. Jefferson had gone AWOL the next day. And instead of canceling photography class, they were told the school was seeking a temporary fill-in. If it kept up, Victoria was going to consider very seriously whether Blackwell was the place for her.

None of that mattered right now. Victoria stood seconds away from actual tears, struggling against the great stone in her throat that she could not push. And she failed. Victoria Chase, social elite and permanently-composed queen of Blackwell, crying in front of the person she most loathed in the entire world at a visitation for a girl she'd helped along in ending up dead. Perfect.

"Oh, nice waterworks Victoria. Hold that pose and I'll get my camera. A performance this good should be-"

"Max. Shut up," Victoria whispered forcefully.

She fell silent. And Victoria gave up on trying not to cry. Why bother? Hot tears against her lashes that made their way down her cheeks and fell, making spots on her black pants.

Another fuck up on her path to perfection. In that split second she had destroyed the clear dynamic between them. She'd lost the armor of indifference. It was too complicated now. And it had been very simple before. Max Caulfield was a haughty, self-important egotist who felt she was better than those around her- with no actual evidence to back it up! Right? Right.

But that egotist put her thin arm around Victoria's shoulders as the tears came. And not a loose, conciliatory sort of pat. Firm and steady, Max pulled herself in to Victoria's side.

"I'm sorry. This is just hard. I cared a lot about Kate. We were... We were really close. And you were really awful to her, Victoria. So I just didn't think that..." Max sighed, shaking her head. "Nevermind."

Victoria wanted to respond. But she couldn't. It felt like someone had pulled the drawstring on her throat and she sputtered against a tightness in her chest. 'Get up and go,' she thought. 'Just go.'

Max raised her other hand and gently directed Victoria's head onto her shoulder, lowering her own head, resting them together. Before Victoria even realized it, she was crying, literally, on Max Caulfield's shoulder. The girl she hated had her wrapped up in scrawny arms.

A weak moment. A low moment. A moment, empty.

Subsiding sadness left Victoria feeling foolish, dramatic, exposed. She couldn't believe that she was sitting there, makeup wrecked, being coddled by Max. Pulling her head free, she made a decisive effort to stand. And somehow it worked. No less marching than storming, Victoria headed for a door in the back of the room, out into the hall, and straight for a bathroom. Mascara lines and puffy eyes in the mirror, she exhaled hard and cringed expectantly.

Seconds passed. The door opened. And of course Max walked in.

Whirling towards her angrily, Victoria opened her mouth to say something. Then, deciding better of it, she turned back to the sink and began wetting a paper towel. It was time, she decided, to compose herself. Within and without.

"Courtney drove you here and left. Let me take you back. I've got Warren's car."

"No thanks, Max. I don't need to be seen riding in your lap dog's charity wagon. Why don't you just-" Wait. She didn't tell Max about Courtney. How did she-

"Victoria. Come on. Look. Let's just go. We can talk about it on the drive back. Or not."

Gently wiping the mascara off her face, leaning in towards the mirror, hand pressed hard against a cold counter of green marble and the sink still running, she clenched her teeth. "Do you just make it your business to solve everyone's problems?"

"Only if they're one of the good ones."

Victoria scoffed and glanced over at Max, eyes narrowed. "I think you should go focus on the good ones then."

Crossing from the door, her feet scuffing slightly, that patented serious Max look in her eyes, she reached up for the towel. "Here. Let me."

"Go fu-" but Max was already holding it and running it softly across Victoria's cheek. Instinctively, she swatted at Max, but Max's free hand was wrapped firmly around her forearm. Stepping back, Victoria pulled free, wide-eyed and indignant. "What the hell is up with you?"

A little smile and a moment of very full silence. "Victoria, just give it a rest. We can go back to hating each other tomorrow. Which is stupid, but if that's what you want, go for it."

Nails digging into her palms, Victoria started to respond. Something about the selfie queen and her fake-quirky shit, probably. She just didn't have time to get it out.

"Don't kid yourself. The only reason we don't get along is because you don't want to. Your snobby pride, and the fact that you've talked so much shit about me that at this point you'd have to eat crow if anyone saw us together."

What could she say? The girl had a point. Besides, the argument was getting exhausting. It felt as if they'd had it a hundred times. Turning the faucet off, she closed her eyes. Then she made another mistake.

"Let's just go."

Max ran her hand down through her hair, brushing it back as she turned and headed out of the bathroom. The color was awful, Victoria thought to herself without actually meaning it. At this point she felt like some sort of defeated boxer swinging ineffectually moments before a knockout (not that she had one to reference. She couldn't think of one if it would save her from having to remember Warren Graham was still alive and probably breathing through his mouth somewhere.)

Passing through a wide hallway of gross fake-comfort purple and and serene pictures of depressing gardens, Victoria reached for Max's arm and tugged her to a stop. "Shouldn't you go say goodbye or something?"

"Don't worry about it," she replied, walking again towards the exit.

When they reached Warren's car Victoria nearly changed her mind. It wasn't just that it looked like the sort of car girls got kidnapped and killed in. It was also a rusted out piece of shit that seemed about as safe as hanging out in a junkyard. But at this point she had already decided to turn into the slide. Why not compromise herself in this way too?

It was quiet between the pair for a while, even if the car itself was not quiet. The motor was loud (or as Warren apparently put it, "improperly muffled"). Max attempted to play some hipster shit over its dull wail- whatever the hell a Sunny Day Real Estate was. But even if she wouldn't have to shout over the engine, Victoria wasn't terribly interested in conversing. She stared out the window at Arcadia Bay and let her ears go numb to miles and the drawn out whine of someone Max called Jeremy.

"I love this album," Max shouted over the din.

"I don't care," Victoria said at a similar volume, still staring out the window.

"Would it kill you to drop the ‘I hate Max’ routine? I’m going out of my way to be to you nice here.”

"Thank you so much, Maxine," bristled Victoria as they approached a stop light.

Making a big show of dramatically stomping on the brake, Max turned and stared at Victoria with something like playful indignation. "I told you never to call me that."

Somewhat confused, Victoria returned a dry look "What are you talking about? Are you sure you're not confusing me with someone else who hates you?"

For a moment Max thought. Then something seemed to occur to her, and she didn't say anything. After a moment she tried again to speak over the noise, "I just have never been a huge fan I guess. It's fine, but it's just too weird for me."

Audibly, Victoria scoffed.

"I'm serious. I don't know what my parents were thinking. Don't you think it's kind of weird?"

"Actually," Victoria began, pausing a noticeable half-moment, "I don’t think it’s that bad. But the parents part sounds familiar."

Max turned the music down and let off the accelerator a bit, which made the roar die as marginally as the speed. "What are your parents like? I’m sure they’re nice! And I mean you definitely have nice stuff so-"

"So my parents must really love me? Please Max. Grow up. My parents are just as bad as anyone else's." She turned a glare towards Max, head on her hand, elbow propped against the window.

"Sorry..." Max lifted her left hand off the wheel for a moment and, evidently forgetting why she raised it to begin with, brushed her hair back from her face. "So they're hard on you or...?"

Immediately frustrated by the topic, Victoria scrunched her eyes shut. "Look Max, I don't really want to play 20 questions with you. Can't we-"

"I don't want to do this forever. Do you? The only reason we don't get along is that we're jealous of each other, which is ridiculous. We should be making each other better photographers, not trying to fuck each other over and arguing every chance we get."

Victoria looked forward and watched a group of evergreens slowly roll by. For a moment she considered saying something about not being jealous, but they both knew Max was right. Maybe she even admitted it to her at some point. But if Max thought jealousy was her only issue, she could easily correct that misunderstanding. "You may be right about the jealousy thing. We both are talented. But only one of us is a quirky loser who listens to this garbage artpop and tries to seem strange cause she thinks it's cool."

Max's eyes went wide and her mouth fell open slightly "Have you even heard artpop before? Because if you thi-"

"Jesus Max," Victoria said, waving her off. "See what I mean? You're fucking weird."

"I guess you'd like me better if I was a boring drone you could send after paper towels when someone gets paint on your cashmere." Her tone was cold and she didn't look away from the road.

For a moment Victoria thought she sounded bitter, which in her mind was as ridiculous as it was pathetic. Taylor wasn't perfect, but Courtney? Totally hopeless.

"At least you were nice when that happened to me. Courtney and Taylor took a leisurely stroll through the dorms and left me there to marinate in white paint."

Turning towards her with a sympathetic grimace, Max said “I've never seen two people take so long to get anything. Did they get lost or something?"

"They fucking FORGOT about the the bathroom right inside the door!"

"Seriously? How could you forget it was there?"

"I didn't speak to either of them for like three hours. And that paint was on my face for two days"

"How did you even get all of it off?"

"It took so much scrubbing. My face was bright red. Plus I didn't manage to scrub off some of the paint that went down the back of my shirt for like four days and I didn't even find out until Taylor-"

Quickly, Victoria stopped speaking, heart pounding so hard she felt it in her fingertips. Panic rushed in. Why the hell had she just blurted that out? Unreal. Max Caulfield was literally always bad news. And of course blaming Max was a rational response to basically revealing- wait, she hadn't revealed anything. A hint was not a confirmation, right? Ugh. Mentally scolding herself to get it together, Victoria continued.

"Anyway, it was a huge pain in the ass."

"Yeah. Sounds that way," Max said, smiling over at her innocently but with that look in her eye.

And the look, real or imagined, festered under Victoria's skin. This hipster bitch was going to talk so much shit about this back at Blackwell. She was sure of it. After a moment, she started to say "Listen, Max, it's not-"

But, as was becoming a really obnoxious habit, Max played mind reader. "I'm not going to say anything Victoria. Besides, everyone thinks you've been hooking up with Nathan."

"Just because I'm friendly to him doesn't mean I'm fucking him, Max," Victoria spat, hands raised in disbelief.

Max shook her head with a labored sigh as she turned Warren's car into Blackwell's parking lot. Pulling into a space she responded, "I don't think you did anything with Nathan. It's fine. I was just trying to say that I won't tell anyone that you're dating Taylor. It’s not-"

Certain that her cheeks were redder than when she’d scrubbed off the paint, Victoria interjected, "We are NOT dating! Look, I don't care what people are saying about me. I'm the object of plenty of gossip. People wish they were like me (Max rolled her eyes). But Taylor isn't-"

"Victoria," Max interrupted, her hand up, "I would love to talk this out but we should probably not do it here." Without another word she took off her seatbelt and stepped out of the car.

For a shocked moment Victoria watched as Max walked away. Hurriedly she stepped out of the car too, surprised at how quickly she had to walk to catch up with Max. Not fifteen seconds later, David Madsen chased down a football player, shouting at him until they stopped right next to where Warren’s car was parked. Max kept on without pause as the two argued loudly.

To Victoria it seemed almost uncanny. How had Max noticed him there? And when did he get back from his suspension? Was he suspended? Chilled by a feeling or by a breeze, she wasn't sure which, Victoria kept pace with Max through the academic quad. It was suspiciously empty aside from Brooke ('who confirmed has no hobbies besides pining over Warren. Two ugly losers so perfect for each other. Their kids will be hideously ugly and they'll die alone, thereby cleaning up the gene pool. Nature is amazing.')

Evidently distracted by her disdain for Brooke, Victoria rounded the corner towards the dormitory and couldn't see Max anywhere. The dorm quad was full- everyone they hadn't seen in front of the school was evidently spending one of the last tolerably cool nights of the year outdoors. Panic was creeping in- where the hell had Max gone? Probably off to immediately gossip to her stupid friends. Victoria tried but failed to comfort herself with 'Who would believe them anyway? A weird blue-haired pothead who doesn’t even go to this school, a dead girl, and Warren.’

But that wasn't the point. Taylor trusted her. She trusted Victoria with her emotional well-being, family troubles, and those secret thoughts that creep in during dark hours without sleep. After the big ‘it’ happened, Victoria promised that she wouldn't let it become Blackwell gossip fodder (well, Taylor’s exact phrase was "Vic please don't let this become some Blackwell TMZ shit," but the idea was the same). Taylor played the bitchy bully sort with grace around Victoria, but they both knew she wasn't made of the same sort of rare cruelty. In fact, there were moments, not the sort of moments she'd ever admit to, where Victoria doubted if she herself was composed of it.

Stepping past the side door of the dormitory, Victoria scanned the quad. Max was gone. Had she sprinted through like some sort of gleeful idiot? No sooner had Victoria finished the thought, there was a click from her right. Max's head popped out from the doorway, looking around to see if anyone noticed.

"This way, your highness. The coast is clear," Max grinned sarcastically.

Too relieved to be annoyed, Victoria ducked in the side entrance and pushed the door shut. She was hit by the smell of the dormitory- a mix of cleaners, dust, people, and time. Somehow it always felt like home, which might've been ironic since it most certainly did not smell like the Yankee Candle emporium that her actual home was. Her mother felt any smell that couldn't be purchased in three-wick form was unacceptable.

"Was that door unlocked?" Victoria quietly asked as they crept through the hall. (Why, she couldn't be sure. Though she definitely didn't want anyone to see the two of them together. Max was very right about the crow dinner.)

Shaking her head, Max said "I just got around to it pretty fast. Maybe I know a trick."

Knee-jerk eye roll complete, Victoria walked with Max to the stairwell. Despite herself, she couldn't help but think about the possibilities of these stairs. At night, after curfew, they rarely saw traffic. The only thing one would have to worry about was another rule breaker stumbling down (or up). But Victoria liked daring things. In her mind, everyone was going to get in trouble for something eventually- might as well be something fun.

Not that she was thinking about making out with Max Caulfield on a stairwell landing. Just anyone. Barely managing to contain the scoff that tried desperately to escape her throat, she shook her head. Must've been a hell of a long day. She was scoffing at her own thoughts.

As they rounded the last landing it seemed Max was suddenly further ahead than she should be. Finger against her lips, she locked eyes with Victoria who stopped dead in her tracks.

It was very quiet. She couldn't hear anything, though she instinctively scrunched her shoulders trying to listen. (‘Why do people do this? It doesn't even help.') Finally, after about ten seconds she heard a door open and Dana shouting something at Juliet. A door slammed. And another split second later a different door opened and Juliet screeched something back at Dana.

Max waved Victoria on. "Come on, we got a window."

"How do you know we-" but it was useless. Max was already halfway down the hall. As she passed Taylor's door Victoria felt a tug of urgency. 'Deal with this Max problem. Now.'

Max had her hand on the doorknob and was headed into her room when Victoria caught up. Judging by the noise Max made, a mix of a squeak and a grunt, Victoria decided that she clearly hadn't been expecting a sudden tug at her belt. Undeterred, she dragged her across the hall and into 221.

The door closed behind them and Victoria roughly threw her handbag back onto the couch. For a very brief moment she considered pushing Max against the door and making a big show of threatening her. But that seemed unlikely to work, and also didn't really feel natural or terribly bright. Max might've been a string bean in Macklemore clothing, but Victoria wasn't confident about who would win in an actual physical altercation.

So instead she just leaned in, Max backed up against the door, and as gravely as she could, said "We still need to talk."

Blinking, Max raised her left hand in the universal sign of 'chill' before saying "Chill. I just thought we would talk in my room..."

Backing away, she took a seat on the couch and motioned for Max to sit down, face covered in a half-scowl. "What makes you think I'd want to go into your room?"

Max laughed, a light playful sort of laugh, as she sat down, smiling. "You don't even want me to answer that Victoria."

And an awkward moment overtook them. Silence as they looked at nothing intently. From down the hall they heard Juliet shrieking again. It occurred to Victoria that she needed to say something before this got any weirder.

"Max. Look. Taylor and I have a close relationship but that doesn't mean... That I want anyone thinking anything strange is going on." It was much more than frustrating, the difficulty of putting the sentence together. Almost like trying to talk to her parents about anything- the slow, cringing anticipation of being interrupted and told off.

But Max just put her hand on Victoria's shoulder. "There's nothing strange about it, OK?"

"I know there's not. I don't need your reassurance," Victoria snapped.

Approximately 2.3 seconds later, she felt bad for it. In that time Max had already turned away, leaning back, eyes closed. Almost instinctively, she grabbed Max's hand as it pulled away. "I'm sorry, OK? I just don't want anyone gossiping about her. She's going through a really hard time with her mom and I really want to support her through it. People talking shit all over school like… I mean, you get that right?"

Max nodded, the light casting her freckles in sharp relief and bringing out the blue in her eyes. Had they always been blue? Victoria could’ve, and would’ve, sworn they were brown. Confused, she noticed herself leaning in, but only a moment too late. Met with a quizzical look, she pulled back, somehow feeling annoyed at Max for the entire ordeal. But the sudden move only highlighted the fact that she was still holding Max's hand. Wailing internally, Victoria let go in as showy a way as one can let go of another person's hand. And to Victoria's frustration it made Max laugh.

"So are you two a thing or not?" Max asked, lips twitching slightly as she worked to contain a laugh.

Bristling, Victoria said, “We're not. No."

"You don't have to lie to me," Max sighed. "I promise I'm not going to tell anyone. Besides, who would believe me? You've got all your friends thinking I'm a liar and a fraud."

"No, Max. I don't," she stated flatly.

And before she had time to admit internally that it was a lie, Max raised her eyebrows, frowning skeptically.

Victoria pressed on, "OK. Well. It's not me I'm worried about. I don't care if a rumor like that goes around about me, I-"

"You care if Taylor thinks you're saying anything like that. I know. I got it. And it's pretty obvious you two are a thing if you care about that at all."

Briefly, Victoria considered standing up dramatically and demanding Max leave. But that hardly seemed like an effective course of action in this case, (which was disappointing. She really wanted to loudly eject Max from a room at some point.) So she settled for asking "What about you, Max? Wouldn't you want to defend a friend from a rumor that could mess up their life?"

"Did you even think about that before you said it?" Max shook her head and sat back up. "I get it."

Flinching, Victoria felt like a complete ass. Instincts kicking in, she pressed on, undeterred. "Anyway, my point is that… Look, I guess Taylor wasn't as OK with it afterwards as I was."

"Oh no," she spoke softly, genuine in her sympathy, hand on Victoria’s leg. “That's the worst. I've been there... with a friend of mine. She said she wanted to. But she definitely wasn't prepared when it happened."

As surprised as she was unsurprised, Victoria asked, “Really? I would not have pegged you as the type. What was it, some kind of experiment when you were a kid? A phase you grew out of?”

“Ha! Next time just ask me if I’m into chicks,” Max replied with a wry smile. “And if you were genuinely curious, it was a dare.”

Heart rate elevated suddenly, Victoria thought aloud “Max Caulfield kisses girls on a dare. Kind of a sad headline. You’ll be very popular if you can get accepted to a college somewhere.”

Her face intense, somewhere between mischievous and mean, Max jeered “Victoria Chase kisses her best friend because she can’t find another girl to make out with. Sadder headline.”

“Hey, fuck you Max. That’s not why I did it. And I- Listen, that was so inappropriate.” Standing up, Victoria felt it coming. She was finally going to eject Max Caulfield loudly from a room.

“Oh, get back here,” laughed Max, pulling her back down to the couch with both hands.

“Get off me,” Victoria huffed, mouth open.

And Max started to say “Make me.” Which is, of course, when it happened.

Max definitely made the first move. Probably. OK. Victoria could admit that she had no idea who made the first move. It was fluid. It just sort of wasn't, and then it just sort of was. They were kissing. And Victoria discovered Max's lips were surprisingly capable, easily matching the intensity she was getting in return. This gentle, quirky hipster and her mild way of doing everything evidently belied a skillset unexpected.

Haughty composure, which was Victoria's pride and perpetual shield, was not something she had maintained well throughout the day. And she certainly wasn't feeling terribly composed now. Their lips together, Max's hand gripping her side and pulling up at her shirt, her own fingers sliding up the back of Max's head and into her hair. There weren't many thoughts to compose aside from 'holy shit.' So she composed that thought and kept composing it as Max, with surprising grace, began kissing her neck.

Her clothes suddenly felt heavy, like some sort of expensive silk burden. "Get me out of these," Victoria whispered between breaths as Max's kisses traced every nerve down her neck. She could smell Max's hair. It was incredible. Or maybe it was just normal. But goddamn. It was incredible.

"Don't you want to be in charge, Maribeth?" Max teased, biting her shoulder at the neck.

"Shut the fuck up, Maxine, and do it before I hit you," Victoria breathed out, digging her nails into Max's side- and not gently. Max made a little noise, and Victoria dug in harder.

Hands fumbling with buttons, Max's lips found their way back up to Victoria's, and their tongues met as she laid back. Full stride in her confidence, Max straddled Victoria's hips and leaned down against her. As she finished unbuttoning her shirt, Victoria's dragged her nails down Max's back.

Seconds passed. Max ran her fingers through Victoria's perfectly cut short blonde hair and tugged the girl under her back upright. Pulling sleeves with her free hand until the shirt wasn't an issue anymore, she pressed her lips down Victoria's chest.

Victoria didn't even bother unbuttoning anything. She just pulled straight up at Max's top until Max pulled her lips away from Victoria's ivory skin and let herself be stripped. As the shirt hit the floor somewhere near her bed, Victoria dug her nails again into Max's firm back and muttered something neither of them quite understood into her ear.

They kissed, running their hands across one another, fingertips tracing invisible drawings of lust and hate and passion. Victoria was the first to lose her bra as Max continued to place kiss after kiss across her breasts. Head buzzing, it seemed like Max was trying to tell her something, but she had no idea what. All she did was feel.

"Get up," Max whispered into her ear, hand gripping her waistband and tugging at her belt.

And Victoria got up, letting Max lead her through the fading light to the bed. Standing at the bedside, Max took Victoria gently by the hair and directed her lips towards her neck. As she moved, kiss by kiss, from ear to shoulder, she reached around and unhooked Max's bra. Not satisfied with just that, Max pressed Victoria's hands down to waist level and held them there until she undid her belt and unbuttoned her pants. As they fell to the floor, Max once again moved Victoria's hands to finish the job of stripping her down entirely. Then she laid back in the bed.

"Get up here Maribeth," Max practically cooed as Victoria kissed up from her thighs and between her bare legs.

"Shut up, Maxine," Victoria barely spoke as she worked her way up towards Max's stomach.

"Aww. Is the little baby upset?" Max asked with a laugh. It was simultaneously cold and warm, loving and antagonistic. Saying nothing, Victoria sunk her perfectly straight teeth into Max's thigh.

Yelping in pain, she returned to her new hobby, grabbing Victoria by the hair and pulling. Only this time it was much more of a yank, and not cute or subtle.

"Oww! Max! Stop!" she squealed out, hands grabbing at Max's.

But Max just laughed. "Shut up and get your ass up here."

So Victoria crawled up onto the bed and suddenly found Max's fingertips pushing down the front of her pants, down and down against her bare skin until they were exactly where she didn't know she wanted them. But holy shit. Yes. That was where she wanted them.

Using her other hand to get Victoria's pants unzipped and off, Max worked her fingers softly until the haughty blonde was on her back and naked.

"Oh my god. Max. Holy shit," Victoria said loudly, and more loudly, until Max put a hand across her mouth.

Working methodically, she kissed the breathless, writhing girl. "Tell me who you want, Maribeth."

"Fuck you, Max," she gasped out, squirming, toes clenched tight.

Hand moving carefully, slowly, firmly, Max asked again. "Tell me, Maribeth. Now."

"You. Fuck you. Oh my god. Fuck you," Victoria tried desperately, uselessly, to fight against the overwhelming feeling. With a particularly loud moan that Max's palm tried to silence she gave up.

"Max. Oh my god. Max, I want you. Holy shit. Don't stop. I want you."

"You've got me," Max said with a particularly satisfied grin. "Now say it again, Maribeth."

But she didn't say anything. She squirmed, she moaned, and she tensed to Max's deft hands. For one brief, incredible moment, Victoria let go. So what if Max Caulfield was between her legs making her move however she wanted. And? All she cared about was the girl and the feeling. That awful little hipster who she wanted so desperately and the overwhelming talent in her hands. The coy way she said "Maribeth" again and again.

The night closed in and Victoria wanted to hear her middle name over and over. A compelling reason to hate it less had developed. As they lay together and Max pulled her so gently by the hair to kiss her on the back of her neck, Victoria whispered "Say it again. Please."

Eyes closed and grinning, Max muttered "Goodnight Maribeth," playful and tired.

Victoria closed her eyes and drifted off into a black ocean filled with green stars. Max's arms around her bare waist, warm and sated, everything seemed OK. She stepped up onto a great stone bridge as wide as the sky and Max led her out in front holding her hands. Everyone lined streets that laid before them and cheered out her name. Max smiled and walked ahead as Victoria remembered her wings and her purpose and everything else that would never last until she was awake.

The sky was bright and the sun was setting. She took pictures of beautiful debris and all the children who climbed up piles of rock and rebar. They threw harmless stones from endless smashed glass gardens, and joked about the things that couldn't reach them now.

Everything slowly faded like static into quiet and she floated along on the tops of flowers until she saw nothing but a long, black horizon. She saw nothing. And she felt so much better.

Max took a picture of her as she laid naked on her back and said "Don't lose this, you stained glass flower," and she handed the Polaroid off.

Since that polaroid was not in Max’s bag or her hands currently, Victoria breathed a sigh of relief that it was probably just part of the dream. Still, if dream Max thought she could just photograph Victoria with impunity, why not?

Pushing the nonsense of the thought out of her head, she picked up Max’s camera and leveled it at the still sleeper on her bed. Framing her perfectly from the waist up, blanket concealing nothing, and the bottoms of her own selfies on the wall, Victoria admired the shot. It was the lighting. Perfect.

“Are you gonna take the shot or pay somebody else to do it?” Max said.

Jumping, Victoria barely kept her hands on the camera “Fuck you Max! I thought you were asleep.”

“Cute. I’ll close my eyes again. You’ve got ten seconds. Impress me.”

As Max Caulfield stretched out, her thin frame back in the camera’s, Victoria’s heart pounded again. With a click and the sound of whining gears, the polaroid popped out. Holding it like someone would hold an old family Bible, Victoria set the camera down and met Max’s gaze.

“I guess we have a few things to talk about now,” she said, her voice sleepy and content.

And Victoria frowned at her. “Yes. Like, for example, how you know my middle name.”


	2. A Spell With No Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taylor, in the dark about Victoria's actions the last 12 hours, struggles to confront her.

Taylor stepped through waist high water into the living room of her childhood home. From the couch, her uncle stared intently at a dust-covered television. It was playing old Pepsi ads that never seemed to end. Other family members stood around the room, all nodding in time at the TV. Creak and slosh, the water ebbed and flowed with the rocking chair at the room's center. Her grandmother had loved it, but her grandmother was gone. Instead Rachel Amber was there, rocking back and forth, kicking her toes up and out of the water.

"It doesn't feel like anything," she sang, beaming like a blessing had hit her.

"Rachel?" Taylor asked, pulse racing as she crossed the room. Everyone shouted as she interrupted their view of the endless ads.

With a funny pout Rachel looked at Taylor. "Hey, T. Don't look so down! Aren't you having fun?"

The chair creaked and sloshed. A tightness formed in Taylor's chest. Everything spinning. Everything fast. Too much air. Too many people. Hot. It was hot. It was too hot and she couldn't breathe and the noise from the TV was overwhelming and-

There was a chime, and vibrations ran through her pillow. The phone screen lit up. 'Victoria,' Taylor thought, mind still racing as she fumbled to grab it. Eyes blurry from sleep, she had to stop, letting them adjust to the bright light streaming in.

Blurs formed into words. But it wasn't Victoria.

"ur mther is still doing ok (: u shd come see her if u arent busy 2day ur aunt wont b here lol uncle ed"

She took a breath. It was morning. The nightmare of trying to sleep was over. Still no message from the girl she’d been obsessing over through half-sleep for hours of minutes that stretched like gulfs of dead air. Her stomach had been feeling the same drop since she woke up the first time at 1:08 A.M. to find no word from Victoria.

She'd done the same at 2:34, 3:16, 4;42, 5:08, and 6:00. It was 7:32 now.

Bleary, she typed "Vic? I'm worried about you. I want to give you your space on this one like you asked but I'm really getting concerned. Please call me." and set her phone back down directly next to her pillow.

'Maybe she just went to bed after the visitation,' Taylor told herself for at least the eighth time. 'It's still early. I should sleep.'

But she wasn't going to. At this point Taylor felt much too tired to sleep. Eyes dry and burning from the fitful rest she'd already failed to achieve, she sat up in bed, legs under her. Tugging at her shirt, she tried to cool off, peeling the thin white fabric from her sweat-soaked chest.

'Damn. Why is it so hot? Is it hot? It's October. Summer is supposed to be over.' The floor felt cool to the touch as she stepped awkwardly over to the window, opening it. Every muscle was stiff from being curled against her body all night. She stared at the back of her eyelids and begged herself to pass out. 'The sooner you sleep, the sooner you'll wake up to a text.'

Cool October breeze flowing around her and lifting her hair, Taylor felt a chill. Not about Victoria. Something else. Maybe something she'd dreamed.

Sitting back down on the bed, she looked again at her phone. Despite marrying a horrifying wretch of a woman, her uncle was a sweet person. And more important than that, her mom was still OK.

Taylor felt a little better knowing that everything was going alright on that front. Plus, she always laughed at middle-aged relatives and the way they text. All the tropes from when she was a kid- lazy spelling, truncated words that had no reason to be, and no punctuation. They embodied the idea of "cool texting" as far as they were concerned.

And that silly thing where they signed their name to texts sometimes? She tried to picture getting a text from Victoria with a signature line. If it happened, hopefully it would be ‘<3**~Victoria Chase~**<3’ or something cutesy like that. Laughing, she almost couldn’t imagine it.

Of course, at that moment Taylor was starting to wonder if her imagination was the only place Victoria would be texting her today. But it was early, and she wanted to be patient. At least, she told herself that.

This lasted about 35 seconds.

Deciding that maybe she should go knock on her door, Taylor stood and moved towards the closet. Pulling the sweat-soaked shirt off, she immediately felt cold, and equally gross. One pit-smell that can only happen with nobody watching later, she scratched the entire idea of going to Victoria's room. For one thing, Taylor said she'd give her space on this one. For another, she smelled like Warren Graham.

Wrapping up in a towel, she grabbed her shower caddy. Both were a pale pink that she wasn’t really in love with. But both were also gifts from her mother. It was amazing how every object, mundane or meaningful, became precious, and every hurtful word from mother-to-teenage-daughter felt like a blow that had been softened. With one exception. But she had decided to blame that one on the aforementioned aunt.

The hallway was quiet, which was a relief since Juliet and Dana had been fighting half the night. Low morning light reflected off of every surface, casting shadows that moved with her as she shuffled to the bathroom. Her eyes stung as they battled the permanent fluorescent inside. Places where the lights never went off always bothered Taylor. It always struck her like a clumsy bathroom metaphor: If you shine enough light on anything, you could completely overlook its dark. Yawning, she hung up her towel and stepped into the shower stall, deciding that was enough philosophy for one morning.

Hot water flowed down her body and she felt new- a feeling that ended abruptly at her shower shoes- glorified flip flops that puddled tepid runoff under her arches. Those were definitely interfering with the whole 'rejuvenated by the shower' thing. Immediately, her mind went to the place all dorm shower-goers end up: fungus and bacteria and all the other things that thrive in the dank tile.

Safe to say, the soothing effect of the shower did not last long. Scrubbing herself quickly from the calves up, ('Why bother with my feet? I'm just gonna pour some soap on them and pray.') Taylor worked quickly to get out of the confines of the stall.

Eyes scrunched tight as she rinsed the conditioner from her long hair, Taylor heard the door to the bathroom open. Spying through the side of the curtain, she saw Courtney walk in, head straight to a sink, and splash water on her face.

Turning off the shower, she cooed over the curtain, "The hangover princess is up early! Hey, don't puke in the sink, OK? Last time you did that I felt really bad for Samuel. And all the rest of us who had to use this bathroom for like two days til he got in on Monday."

The faucet went quiet, water gurgling down the drain. Silence overtook the bathroom and seconds passed. Hesitant, Taylor frowned and fastened the towel around herself. "Court? You OK?"

Another moment and Courtney quavered, "...Taylor?" Subtle, but present, there was something in her tone of voice.

"You OK?" Taylor repeated, opening the curtain to step out, once more disgusted by the water squishing uncomfortably against her dripping shower shoes.

Nodding slightly, Courtney asked, “...Do you know where you’re supposed to put trash cans if you puke in them?”

There was no time to answer. With the half-lean of the recently sick, Courtney turned the sink back on, rinsing and spitting. Taylor scrunched her nose. She imagined that vomit smell, and it coupled with the shoe-squish at every step. Verdict on this shower trip was ‘mostly a failure.’ In her mind, some things about her own miserable night were starting to make more sense.

“I guess you and Victoria decided to drown your sorrows without me after you brought her back last night?” Taylor tried to hold back the temper she felt heating up her insides.

The two of them hadn’t really spoken much since the whole Kate thing. In Courtney’s hotly delivered words, it was “wildly inappropriate” for Taylor and Victoria to record the entire situation on their phones. She'd never say it, but Taylor agreed. That moment stuck out in her mind like she'd stepped on a nail sticking up from the stairs. A horror, sudden and unexpected.

Running behind, Victoria walked quickly ahead of Taylor, out into the rain.

“Victoria, wait! Hey, I-”

But the sentence was never finished. Her eyes fixed on something and she stopped talking. Stepping around the side of the dorm, the pair arrived where several other students had gathered. All their eyes were skyward. Quickly stepping over to Victoria, Taylor turned to look up. 

There was Kate, hands clutching back and forth on the air between her fingers, perched at the edge of the roof.

“Oh wow,” Victoria said, mouth open with disbelief of a cruel variety. "Oh, we have got to get this one," she sneered, standing closer towards Taylor as the rain picked up. Phone out, she started recording.

Taylor just followed suit.

In her mind, this was sad as hell. She didn't believe that Kate would jump. Another dramatic gesture from Blackwell's attention whore- literally, hadn't everyone seen the video? The preachy Queen of holier-than-thou shit, at it again. She couldn't get noticed any other way, so now she was doing this? Pathetic. Like. This was an all time low. Didn't she know people really do this shit, that it fucks up their family's lives? Was she completely oblivious to the problems everyone else had? She was not special.

Kate turned her back on the crowd.

Nudging Taylor’s arm and laughing, Victoria said “This could not get any funnier.” She pointed up, just past Kate. There was Max Caulfield, up on the roof, just giving this girl the show she was craving. Oh, what a tragic little baby!

Moment led to moment, and it felt like an hour passed. The crowd swayed and murmured. Taylor suffered a chill as rain ran down her arms and onto her phone. In her mind, she felt water rising slowly all around her, drop by drop by drop.

And then there was Kate, framed against a leaden sky, skirt billowing with the motion of that last big drop.

 

Nothing registered in Taylor’s mind as she watched the girl falling. Until it did. Gravity worked powerfully on her stomach and it plummeted the whole way down with Kate. Taylor prayed then. She apologized. She wailed and screamed without words or voice or air.

Jesus. Oh god. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.

A great cacophony of horrified voices made a chorus. Feet ran. Books and bags fell. Screams and yells. That great cry of the real and the irreversible. It was a song and it played and played as Taylor's head rushed and the slow spin of Earth swallowed all the living around her.

But not Kate. Kate lay there. Kate would lay there for good.

Victoria turned to Taylor, eyes wide and mouthing something wordlessly as she clutched her phone to herself. And Taylor wrapped the girl up in her arms, cold, their bodies wet and shivering. Proximity. She needed to feel life. Movement. Breathing. Everything felt like a static station on a dusty old television left out in the rain playing a scene that she could not understand. But Victoria pulled away. Gently at first, but firmly, she pushed off against Taylor's chest to separate them.

Watching her as she ran up past Kate's body and into the building, Taylor felt numb from the elements and the moment. Courtney was there, staring at her, eyes filled with the dread and disbelief that beset them.

"What..." she said, voice low and breaking.

"C-Courtney," Taylor sputtered, goosebumps from the inescapable damp running down her spine and along her bare legs. Stepping towards her friend, feeling the water with every move, she reached out and took her hands.

"Why did... just... What did we..."

The two clutched at one another. Courtney buried her face against Taylor's chest. Holding her friend close, she looked out at the panicked crowd, tears joining the rain. Frozen. Everything around her felt frozen. It may have moved, but it wasn’t going to change.

That was Tuesday. Now it was Sunday morning.

Courtney turned the sink off, eyes barely open as she gave Taylor the ‘what the fuck are you talking about?’ look. “What the fuck are you talking about?” she spat, “I haven’t seen Victoria since I dropped her off. I texted her like three times asking if she needed a ride and I never got anything back. I just assumed you went to get her or… something, I guess. I don’t know.” Closing her eyes completely, she put her forehead against the mirror.

“I didn’t pick her up! She wanted- look, where is she now?” Taylor asked, feeling somewhat more frantic than before, temper still threatening to flare.

Fog on the glass from her sigh, Courtney replied, “Did you just hear me? Am I even talking right now? I don’t know. Go knock on her door. Or just walk in. Surprise her with your non-stop mother-hen bullshit.”

For a brief moment, Taylor imagined hitting Courtney in the back of the head and smashing her nose against the mirror. It didn’t make her feel any better, and in fact it never did. Taylor blamed her temper on her mother. Her mother blamed it on her absent father. “I’m not being a mother-hen! I’m worried about our friend, since the person who was supposed to be driving her back here decided to get drunk and pass out next to a trash can of her own vomit!”

“Ugh,” a low, drawn-out groan escaped from Courtney as she stood up straight, trying to level herself with Taylor. The wobble in her legs didn’t help. “Look, leave me alone. I’m going back to bed. And I don’t want to hear about Victoria. She’s paying me to write another paper today and I haven’t even started. So if you’ll excuse me.” Dragging her feet with every step to the door, Courtney turned and spoke with dripping sarcasm, “By the way, if you find out she died at a fucking memorial service, let me know so I don’t waste time on her paper.”

Blowing out air like venting steam, Taylor quickly followed after her. Exiting back into the quiet hallway, however, she decided against dragging out the argument. It made her furious when people ran off in the middle of a fight. There was a value in the last word, perhaps imaginary, but she still wanted it.

Less than five seconds after she walked into her room, Taylor had her phone in hand (stopping only to kick off her shower shoes by the door). Still nothing. Just a barely comprehensible text from her uncle. Unable to categorize the emotion swirling up from somewhere at her core, she dressed quickly, throwing a hanger across the room that clattered as it hit something in its flight path. ‘Ridiculous,’ she thought. What was Victoria’s deal? Was Courtney lying? What the fuck was going on?

Her mother had this annoying habit of keeping her on hold like a child. If there was something to be discussed, it couldn't just happen. Optimal conditions were required. Sometimes she would call Taylor to say that they needed to discuss something, would she please drive out? It didn't matter that they could communicate any number of ways. That wouldn't do.

If a family member died, she could not find out from anyone in any way. It had to be done by the book, which to her mother meant sitting her down, having a full three paragraphs of preface, then finally breaking whatever news needed broken. Not that it wouldn't be broken by context clues or inference. It would. When she was a kid she just assumed it was how important things were handled. Now she found it patronizing and insulting.

That's how she felt now. Patronized. Insulted. She and Victoria were close. Very close. Maybe at times a little too close. Or maybe not. Taylor had a lot of feelings on that issue. But this issue? This one was simple. The memorial service, the radio silence, every slight from the last three days, was punishment.

Because Taylor had made a mistake.

Standing in Victoria’s room, no more than a foot apart, Taylor noticed something.

“You’ve still got paint back here,” she said, tracing her finger down Victoria’s spine slowly along a smeared white mark.

Shivering, Victoria, gripping the shirt she’d been changing into, asked, “Are you gonna help me get it off?”

Then it happened. A warmth Taylor only felt once before. Her hands shaking slightly with the sudden elevation of her heart rate. She ran her fingertips down Victoria’s back again, stopping this time at the clasp of her bra.

And she just did it.

Clasp undone, it fell forward down Victoria’s arms. Letting go of the shirt, Victoria turned around and pressed her lips against Taylor’s.

Taylor felt a head rush and grabbed Victoria’s waist, spinning her sideways and over to the bed where the girl fell underneath her, a small, passionate noise escaping.

Hands finding their way down, Victoria lifted at Taylor’s shirt and started to pull it upwards.

‘Oh God,’ Taylor thought, a cool panic washing in over the heat in her blood. ‘Oh, no, fuck. No. No.’

“I can’t,” she suddenly spoke, pulling her shirt down as Victoria’s lips pressed still against her. “Victoria, stop. Stop!” Standing up quickly, Taylor stepped to the center of the room, her back to the bed. “I can’t,” she repeated. “I can’t.”

Taylor couldn’t shake the image of her mother, that endless loop of ‘Your aunt better be lying! I won’t have a queer for a daughter!’ playing over and over. Taylor stared at the IV. It dripped endlessly, draining forever into a person who had drained her out.

And Victoria, perhaps wounded, or perhaps offended that anyone would tell her no, shouted, “Just get out!” as she pulled her own shirt back on, physically pushing Taylor to the door and slamming it shut behind her.

Standing there now, three days later, at the exact same spot in front of Victoria’s door, she felt suddenly foolish. What was she even doing?

But the moment didn’t last long enough for her to walk away.

Swinging open suddenly, Victoria rushed out of her door and stopped a half inch in front of Taylor whose hands were already up in self-defense. A long, silent moment passed as their brains attempted to reboot. The two stared at each other.

“Hey… uh, hi.” Taylor cleared her throat.

“T, hey… uh. What were you- listen. Hey. I was just gonna-” Victoria tripped over her words, gesturing with her hands.

“... text me?” Taylor offered, sheepishly.

“Yeah, definitely. Um. Hey, why don’t you…” turning, Victoria seemed to be surveying her room for something. Evidently satisfied that it didn’t exist, she waved Taylor in.

A door opened behind her. Max Caulfield stepped into the hall with her own shower caddy. "Hey Max," Taylor said absently, turning back to Victoria.

"Hey Taylor. Good morning, Victoria," Max smiled.

"It could've been, I suppose. But then I interacted with you." Victoria looked back into her room again, scanning the floor for something.

"You're brave, Victoria." Laughing to herself, Max walked off, left hand in some sort of strange half-wave.

Eyebrows raised, Taylor watched her as she headed towards the bathroom. "That girl is so fucking weird."

"Tell me about it," Victoria said, pulling Taylor into the room by her hand. Door closed, the two of them stood together, Victoria fidgeting.

"So... Was it OK? Are you OK?" Taylor asked, stepping closer to her, unsure of how to act. The last twelve hours suddenly felt like staring at a big shadow from a little light.

Victoria nodded, eyes coming no closer to meeting Taylor's than her neck. "Yes. It was fine. I... felt a little emotional I guess."

Left hand on Victoria's arm, Taylor tried to force off the anger and the worry and the sleepless hangover feeling, asking, "What happened? Stella said she saw you talking to Max. Did she start a fight with you?"

A long moment went by, Victoria staring down at the floor. "No. I just felt like maybe we did something wrong. You and me. All those people there were..." She shook her head. "Forget it. Whatever happened, it's over."

For a moment Taylor considered sharing her own regret. But it just felt messy. It all felt too tangled now, and she wasn't sure why. To add even one more straw to the story of the past few days felt like a bad idea. So she changed the subject to something she assumed would be innocuous. "How did you get back? I found Courtney hung over and puking in a sink this morning and-"

"Oh my god. No. She didn't puke in the sink again. Please tell me you're lying," Victoria practically pleaded.

"No. But, close call. Although, she did mention that she didn't pick you up from the visitation. You know, between the dry heaves."

"I caught a ride. With Max," Victoria said, a forced look of disgust on her face.

"You rode with Max? Are you serious? Does she even have a car? Is she even old enough to have a license? She looks like she's six," Taylor spat out the words, disbelief running down the length of her body like a coating of static.

And Victoria, red-faced, waved her off. "Whatever, it wasn't a big thing. I just wanted to get back here, and she offered."

But Taylor pressed on, mind reeling with the ridiculousness of the statement and a rare sort of incredulity. "Max Caulfield. You can't be serious. Did you literally not text me, the person sending you half a dozen concerned messages, all night because you were hanging out with a person you hate?"

Obviously composing herself, Victoria looked up at Taylor, "This jealous bullshit isn't flattering. Max was headed back, and I saved Courtney a trip. End of the story.”

Stinging, Taylor felt the inescapable urge to cry that rose in her during any conflict with Victoria. But she stood firm, eyes focused on that vicious mouth as she spoke. "I was worried about you. Don't act like this just because I didn't feel like making out with you. I know it breaks your heart to not always get your way." Regret immediately hit her, wishing as always for that impossible undo button for her mouth.

And that did it. No sooner than the words left her mouth, Taylor received the copyright protected 'Victoria Chase Look (TM)', illegal in at least seven states and capable of killing many types of animals. At least, that's how Rachel Amber described it. Nobody ever told Victoria. Rachel said she would enjoy it too much.

"T," she began, tone much softer than her face implied, "I'm not mad about that. I read things between us wrong. It happens. And yeah, it hurt my feelings in a way. But in another way, it's better if we don't. You and I both have enough problems. Let's not become another one."

In her mind, she should've felt relieved. But she didn't. Instead, Taylor felt wounded, damaged, stupid. There were several things she wanted to say: "Fuck you, Victoria," was the first, but that wasn't likely to help. "You're treating me like this because I hurt you," was another, and that was just certain to put the ego queen on guard more than she already was. "You didn't read anything wrong, dumbass! I just choked!" was the most compelling, but to admit that would mean admitting something bigger than a middle-school style crush on her best friend. And it was the something bigger that caught in her throat, unmoving. It was the something bigger that made her go quiet, whispering out "OK," and looking anywhere but at Victoria.

Quiet. Not loud quiet. Not roaring, meaningful quiet. Not the quiet before two girls in love give up the act and kiss. Just quiet. The room wasn't spinning. Taylor's thoughts weren't racing. Victoria didn't have that look of molding her sentences into well-practiced perfection just past her eyes. It was a moment where the two agreed silently to hold something solid, intangible, and impassable between them.

And for the second time in a long, long hour, her uncle lit up her phone and broke a spell with no name that everyone knows how to cast.

"ur mom is up n wants 2 kno if u r evr gon com c her lol uncle ed"

"Who's that?" Victoria asked, milling around the room suddenly and obviously doing nothing in an effort to break the freeze or appear disinterested, Taylor couldn't decide which.

Sighing as if she wasn't thoroughly relieved, Taylor replied, "It's my uncle."

"Ed? Is your mom OK? I'm sorry, I didn't even ask. I didn't mean to start some shit when you-"

But Taylor, with a relieved smile, held up a hand. She realized that she hadn't been breathing only as she felt her breath return to normal. "She's OK. I guess she's up and... whining probably. My uncle has already texted me twice this morning. So."

"OK but did he spell anything right?" Victoria asked.

The pair laughed and, tentatively, Taylor opened her arms. Victoria practically tripped into them, her head resting against Taylor's shoulder. Though she'd never tell Victoria, the lack of height difference, how appropriate it felt, was one of her favorite things about them. Not that there was a them. Maybe just one of her favorite things? That sounded stupid, like she didn't have other favorite things. Whatever.

"So, am I riding to the hospital with you or did you want me to drive?" Victoria smiled, pulling away from the embrace.

Feeling a good sort of warm for the first time all morning, Taylor laughed. "You mean am I gonna ride while you drive my Corolla? Because, and this is the biggest shock, you still don't have a car somehow. You own a shirt that is literally $1100. You don't own a car."

"Get out of my room. I'm gonna get dressed in something more expensive just to prove a point," she pouted back.

And Taylor laughed, "Yeah, that expensive wardrobe is gonna get you places. Just not physically. Because it's still not a car."

"Go!" Victoria pushed her playfully, managing to move her approximately no feet.

But Taylor stayed. "Don't even act like that. Get dressed. I'll pretend not to watch."

Pulling her shirt off, Victoria made a noise with her throat. "Oh my god. Just like a straight girl. You want the show, but you never want to buy the ticket." Then something occurred to her. Shaking her head, she held her shirt in front of her bare midriff, and pointed towards the door. "Please. Let's not... get things confused. Not if we can help it."

With a nod, Taylor said, "OK. Sorry." She knew what had occurred to Victoria. It was probably why they'd lived on a tundra since she'd stopped them from making out.

It was about a night in early April. And it was about Rachel Amber.

"Your hair is definitely longer than mine. It's really cute! I'm jealous!" Rachel spoke over the DJ pumping out what Courtney insisted on referring to as "bangers," repeatedly.

Taylor felt herself pull back slightly, speaking in a surprised tone as Rachel played with her ends. "I mean, it's pretty good but your hair is almost exactly like mine."

And Rachel's eyes went as wide as Taylor had ever seen them, lighting up with the thousand spinning club lights. Despite herself, Taylor thought, 'Shit, this girl is too pretty.'

"You're insane! First of all, your hair has way more volume. It's fuller, it actually has a style, and you could do anything with it," Rachel tugged at her own hair playfully, "This shit is thin as hell, and just lays there like- well, I think we all know who I mean there. No need to bring THAT up."

Everyone around laughed. Except Victoria, who never laughed at Rachel's jokes. Instead, she shook her head, took another sip of her drink and looked off at a group bathed in the pink light that strobed and spun and flashed as they talked and flirted away the night.

"Don't get it twisted, T. You have the best hair of anyone at this table. And you're the prettiest," Rachel grinned and grabbed Taylor's hand, cupping it into her own as a few at the table murmured about their own appearance.

Undeterred, Rachel swept a smile around to each of them. "Don't be jealous, bitches. Look, you are all beautiful and I would be so glad to take any of you with me when I leave this shithole town." The way she emphasized the word 'so' caused a couple of giggles. Everyone was glued to her movements, her hands as she spoke and molded each words with her fingers. At least, in this case, the one that wasn't holding Taylor's.

"I'd even be lucky to take you, Vic. At least the car ride to Cali would be quiet. And I'd never worry about you stabbing me in the back, cause you'd do it from the front. Which is just how I like it, believe me." Making a less than subtle motion with her hand, the group of friends and nameless guests to the Vortex Club laughed and ate every word whole.

Victoria continued to not laugh, "I sincerely hope I get my chance at that," she muttered loud enough to be heard.

"Wow, Victoria, yes please. Take me to the back seat of your Maserati and let's get straight to it," emphasizing the word straight to the delight of the crowd. "Also, quick question but do Maseratis have back seats? Or, just like, a cubbyhole to store your servant in case you need someone to pump the gas or order Taco Bell?"

Lip practically snarled in disgust, Victoria took a much larger sip of her drink and looked anywhere but at the jubilant group. Taylor felt uneasy watching her glare into the party, and her palm was getting sweaty still pressed against Rachel's.

"Lighten up, Victoria. She's playing!" Juliet slurred, nearly tipping her drink as Courtney stabled it and pat her on the back lovingly, like one might pat a puking niece.

"I am playing, that's true. Don't get the very expensive underwear you aren't wearing knotted up." Another laugh that kept the promise of a whole night filled to spill with laughter. "But let's get back to the point, OK? Seriously. I love all of you. You're all adorable, and some of you are way more than that."

Turning back to the girl whose fingers she'd just laced with her own, Rachel smiled. It glowed both loving and devious. At once, Taylor's stomach felt like a car jumping a little hill at speed. "This girl," Rachel spoke, eyes locked and intense, gripping her hand more tightly, "is on a whole different level. And I mean it. If she said we could kiss right now, it would happen. Right here at these gross, sticky tables. Which, thank you again Juliet, you mess." Rachel slapped playfully across at Juliet, hitting her arm and causing her to spill even more as she laughed and tried drunkenly to intercept.

"Kiss her then!" Dana burst out more loudly than she intended, which didn't bother the group as they immediately joined in, practically chanting.

"Wow, look at the straight girl talking!" Rachel exclaimed. "They always want the show but they never want to buy a ticket. So typical," she winked at Dana who was blushing as she downed her beer self-consciously.

Taylor itched under the lights. It was definitely too warm and she was regretting the sweater, however thin and cute it might've been. Plus, the minor detail of having to remind herself to breathe every few seconds. Rachel's fingers pressed against her hand, a purposeful reminder, and she felt uncomfortable. At the same time, she didn't want to let go. It felt good. Rachel felt good. And that felt wrong.

For a moment, Taylor tried to comfort herself that at least nobody had noticed them holding hands. But looking across the table, she didn’t feel so sure that Victoria hadn’t. It was no mystery how she felt about Rachel Amber, and her glower was much grimmer than usual. For a brief, oblivious moment, Taylor wondered if Victoria felt like all this Rachel stuff was a betrayal of their friendship. But the conversation was a constant stream, and she fell back into it when Rachel said her name.

"Taylor, you beautiful girl. One day I want a half dozen wives, and you're gonna be my favorite one." A laugh rippled through the crowd but Rachel held up a hand and insisted, "Seriously though! You all should think about this. Why do you limit love? What does that even feel like, to just love one person? None of you can tell me because you've all been in love thirty times this week. Except for Juliet who doesn't love anything but writing shit down that nobody will read, I guess. But there's always an outlier!"

The crowd laughed, Juliet harder than anyone as she twirled her empty glass. Taylor noticed the guy who had been talking to her all night try to step in and put his arms around the very drunk reporter. But Courtney pressed him back, stepping between them and sending him away with a look. Juliet was too drunk to even realize what had happened.

"Think about that though. Waking up every day surrounded by the people who love you, and that you love? It's not like shit's working as it is now. I know the homes some of you are coming from. And some of you know the home I'm coming from," There were nods around the circle as Juliet laid her head on the table, and Courtney put her arm around the girl's shoulder, holding her tight.

Eyes shining, it looked like Rachel might cry as she spoke."Don't some of you feel that way though? I mean, who here wouldn't love to just GO?" Nods and intense stares, Rachel had the crowd tied firmly to every word. As usual. "It won't be long. We'll find our way home. And we will live that life-"

"Jesus Christ, do you even hear yourself?" Victoria said, hand on her forehead, shaking her head back and forth slowly with eyes closed. "I'm so special!. You're all special too! Let's go live in a hippie commune and grow pot together! And don't mind the rampant syphilis! I've got SO much love, I just can't help it!"

Rachel's eyes narrowed and she was quiet. No smiles. No laughter. As Victoria pressed on, Taylor could feel the grip on her hand getting tighter.

"See, here's the thing, Rachel. You talk all this shit. And yeah, you sleep around, which hey, good for you." Victoria made a show of clapping one staccato beat at a time. "And yet here you are, bouncing from girl to guy to girl, going nowhere. If you're dying to leave Arcadia Bay, the door is literally anywhere." A wicked half-smile crossed her face. "But you don't want to leave. You want to be loved. Because mommy and daddy didn't, right? So you make this big show- Rachel's gonna disappear one day! And then you'll never see her again! But that's a lie, and you're pathetic."

There was a pronounced pause of silence there in the dark club, pink lights bouncing over the group. Courtney, running her fingers through the unconscious Juliet's hair, looked at Dana who lowered her gaze to the table. The others at the table shifted back and forth, waiting for something to happen or someone to break through the glacier that Victoria had run them all into.

So Rachel did.

Gently turning Taylor's face towards her own, fingers softly moving her chin, Rachel quietly asked, "May I?"

Stunned and overwhelmed, Taylor hesitated. But she sensed a moment was upon her that she would remember forever, no matter which way it went. And she had always wanted to believe herself the type who would risk it when the moment arose to take a chance. Well. Here it was. A deep breath and one last internal shove of courage, Taylor closed her eyes and leaned into Rachel.

In her mind, it seemed like kissing a girl would be different than kissing a boy. In a way it wasn't. But then again, it really was. Definitely. Softer, maybe. Warmer. So, so much more attentive. Slower. Less forceful. More... graceful. Rachel's hand in her hair, Taylor prayed to whoever would listen that it last a few seconds more, and a few seconds more.

But finally Rachel pulled away, and the buzz continued for a long, blissful moment. Until the ooh's and ahh's Taylor hadn't heard began to subtly register with her brain and her face went along with the tint of all the pink swirling lights.

Looking at her with a genuine, caring smile, Rachel ran long fingers from Taylor's hair down her neck. "Every bit what I imagined. No wonder Victoria is so jealous tonight. I was pretty upset that she'd say those things at a time like this, but my god... I'd be acting out too if I was in her shoes." Shooting Victoria a dark, narrow-eyed smirk, Rachel declared, "Enough of all this. Let's dance before we die at this table with the dour bitch of Blackwell."

Rachel headed towards the dance floor, gently pulling Taylor along. As she followed, Taylor's gaze met Victoria's, and guilt ran her through. The girl just sat there, fingers wrapped tight around her glass. She looked beaten, angry, sad. And she said nothing as Courtney came over to her (Juliet safely slumped in a chair next to them, totally out). In that moment, Taylor remembered herself and felt the blood rush of panic. But Rachel led her on until she was in the mass moving in time and she couldn't see Victoria anymore.

Heat from so many people was making her feel claustrophobic. Breaking free from a cluster of people, the duo burst into a relatively open space- at least enough room for them to move. But Rachel wasn't interested in space, taking Taylor by the hips and pulling until their bodies met.

"Please tell me you're coming back to my room with me tonight," she intoned, voice low.

Taylor, feeling awkward and entranced, swayed in time with the beat. Thoughts like hummingbird wings in flight bounced around her brain. This couldn't happen. Could this happen? She definitely wasn't... like that. And if anyone ever found out? If her family found out? They'd literally disown her.

But good lord. That intoxicating comfort of Rachel's smile. Those eyes keenly in touch with every inch of Taylor's body language. Seconds passed, the rush of adrenaline at her center stretching time out and out and out.

Persistent pounding of the speakers, Rachel leaned in and pushed Taylor's hair back, pressing her lips against her ear. "Don't say yes unless you really mean it. It's completely cool."

The whisper made her shiver, and without thinking she put her hands on Rachel's back, firm and warm. "I just don't know... like... what to say. Or do. People talk."

"People forget," Rachel grinned. "Besides, leaving with me doesn't mean everyone thinks we're going off to have at it. You've seen people go off with me three dozen times. What did you think was happening?"

"Something wild," Taylor said, feeling a sudden excitement that overrode the static build up of emotions that had been weighing on her. "Something crazy and fun and dangerous."

Rachel laughed softly in her ear. "Well. You've all got me pegged." Sliding her fingers under Taylor's shirt, nails gently dragging across her skin as she gripped her bare waist. "Would you like to go do some of that?"

Heart beating hard, Taylor nodded and said "Yes. Let's... do that. Just..."

"Nobody's gonna know anything unless you tell them. My lips are sealed," and she felt Rachel smiling against her ear.

"How can you be sure? If my family or-"

"Taylor. I've kissed at least 4 of your friends. Which ones do I mean?"

Thinking for a moment, fingers gripping Rachel's back as they swayed, Taylor responded hesitantly. "I guess probably..." and a moment later, "I don't know."

“See?” Leaning back, Rachel grinned. “Come on. Let's get out of here."

"Let's get out of here," Victoria said, stepping into the hallway in an outfit that was definitely more expensive.

Max was coming back from her shower, holding a wet towel and wearing the clothes she'd worn into the bathroom, now damp.

"Max, just wear the towel. That's disgusting," Taylor's lip went up at the side as she scrunched her features upward.

"I do this, you do Victoria. We both do gross things. No need to talk about it." Max spoke casually as she passed the pair.

Instantly, Taylor spun to start a fight with the girl. But two things stopped her. The first was Max was somehow already in her room, door clicking home. And the second was Victoria's hand grabbing her arm.

"Come on. Forget her. Let's go see your mom."

Silently, they walked out into the bright light of a Blackwell morning. The air was gross with dew, Taylor thought. She hated mornings, that drained out feeling she always got from them. It occurred to her how tired she was, and the night of bad sleep suddenly felt like it had been an age ago.

Stopping in front of the car, side by side, Taylor held the keys out towards Victoria who reached for them immediately. But they were gone, snapped back with Taylor’s hand as she grinned.

Rolling her eyes, Victoria said, “Seriously? Are we ten again?”

But Taylor just smiled, blowing a kiss as she got in the driver’s seat.

Windows down, the cool air of October and Arcadia Bay rushed in. Her foot pressed against the gas, and the car sped quietly down the road. Hair blowing into her face, Taylor grabbed Victoria’s hand and put it on the wheel. “Don’t kill us.”

Fingers turning white from exertion, Victoria managed to shakily weave them between the yellow and white lines as Taylor pulled her hair back. There was a deep sigh as she finished, peeling the stiff fingers off the wheel.

Kissing Victoria’s hand, Taylor said, “See? Not so tough, you wimp.”

“Shut up!” was the only reply, besides from a frown.

Taylor still had her hand, and lowered it down between them. Deciding to test it, she just didn’t let go. After a solid thirty seconds passed, she felt Victoria move, and she loosened her own grip. But instead their fingers were now laced together. Neither of them said anything. Taylor drove. Victoria looked out the window.

After a space of time indeterminate, their hands still tightly and intentionally together, Victoria said, “Your awful aunt isn’t gonna be there is she? The one who told everyone you were going to hell for being a homosexual?”

With a look like she’d tasted charcoal and ashes, Taylor said, “Thank god no. I’m still so sorry she made that scene the last time you came. My mom didn’t speak to me for a week after. I had to convince her that- look, anyway. I’m sorry. My family isn’t glamorous. It’s… got its problems. But I feel like I need to b-”

“T, hey,” Victoria said, looking over at her with a soft, bemused sort of smile. “I get it. Why do you think I’m coming with you? Besides, people like your aunt think all girls with short haircuts are gay. And also going to hell, probably.”

“Aren’t you?” Taylor teased.

“Which part? Because the general consensus at Blackwell is yes to both.”

Laughing together, Taylor loosened her grip on Victoria’s hand and, for a moment, thought about pulling away. But Victoria gripped her hand tight until she returned.

‘Whatever,’ she thought, that strange feeling returning to her guts. ‘Fuck it.’

Lines whizzed by, and Victoria reached across to turn up the radio. 

“Who is this?” she asked.

Thinking for a moment, Taylor said, “Uhh… Oceanlab, I think? I don’t know. I listen to a lot of this electronic stuff. You gotta really listen close to tell it apart sometimes. I didn’t think you cared about that sort of thing.”

“Maybe,” Victoria said, smiling at her, head against her hand, elbow propped up on the open window. “I haven’t made up my mind yet.”


	3. The Universe Can't Help Itself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max has to deal with the decisions she's made over countless runs of the week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience everyone! All apologies for the delay in getting this finished. I'm in the middle of a job hunt, and I moved in the middle of writing this chapter. My hope is to have the next chapter up prior to the release of episode 5 (fingers crossed). Thank you again for reading, commenting, and enjoying this fic! I've put a lot of hours into writing and editing it and I hope you'll enjoy this chapter as much as the other two (even if it is a bit grimmer...) If you're enjoying it, please share it with others! Also, feel free to follow my Tumblr (CombatBae) for updates on this fic!

There was a noise in the deep quiet of her sleep, and Max slowly opened her eyes. Victoria was there, rifling through her bag. Ah, yes. She'd nearly forgotten that whole 'seducing Victoria again' thing. Not hard to believe. She'd been having a dream of time travel. And for a moment, she felt like she really had.

But it was Sunday. Sunday meant forwards. Max couldn't travel forwards with her curse. 'The only curse that takes anyone to the future is time,' she joked to herself darkly.

It looked like Victoria was sorting through her photos. 'There was a time watching this diva paw through my personal effects would've driven me crazy,' she thought, trying not to smile. Didn't mean a thing now. Max knew her inside and out. Twelve heart to hearts Victoria didn't remember gave her an advantage. The apathy that had been mounting over the last few replay weeks helped too.

Shutting her eyes tight, Max tried to sleep again. It wasn't like she was going to miss anything she couldn't relive later. 'Stop thinking that,' she scolded herself.

Those quiet sounds of Victoria violating her privacy felt comforting as Max drifted off again. It felt like a scale that was evening out, or a swing slowing down, feet dragging through mulch until the motion stops.

But there weren't any dreams. A strong wind of thought. A stormy Friday just for one. She'd fucked up again. More than usual this time.

Rain was stinging her face. Hayden. He was leaning down over her. Couldn't hear him through the roar of the wind. Saying something. But what? Ears ringing, a burning pain in her waist. Skin split. Blood. A lot of blood. Woozy.

Ah, fuck. The storm.

Max wanted to see it this time. Normally, she would’ve dug through her bag around noon on Friday, found the convenient polaroid to that particular meaningless moment, that stupid goddamn butterfly, and just like that, there she was back on Monday in the piss-smelling bathroom. Not this week. No. Quietly, she sat in Jefferson’s classroom, watching through the windows as things grew darker and darker.

The quiet din of chatter, tap of pencils and pens, vibrating phones. It was eerie to experience. It was too normal. Nothing changed. Nothing different. Just the slow drone of the everyday that promised to always stay that way, even if no one was listening. But Max was listening. And she knew it was a lie.

A clock had ticked. Wind whipped trees. That sick asshole Jefferson prattled on about something, and Victoria played evil Hermione Granger. Kate sat beside Max, holding her hand in a tight grip as the black deepened across the horizon.

For the entire week, Max was by Kate’s side, consoling and comforting her. All day Tuesday she breathed hard against anticipation, and her pulse raced with fear. But the rooftop never happened. Instead, Kate wept against Max's lap, lying on her couch as the rain fell.

It was surprising the massive effort it took to lift that beautiful girl out of the pit. So much so that Max had barely reconnected with Chloe. And she certainly hadn’t touched the Rachel Amber mystery. Or broken into the gym, swam in the pool, kissed anyone at all.

No. The whole week was spent in the service of saving Kate. A Kate that could live forever and be happy. Because this Kate would never be. This Kate was a test of whether she could be saved. It was a moment where the sickness of shaping time turned a person into an idea, and Max felt the detachment of a surgeon: This wasn’t pretty. But it was necessary.

Eyes closed, she squeezed Kate’s hand. Maybe there was no storm. Maybe there was time to have this Kate survive, find Chloe and reconnect, bust Jefferson, find Rachel. That could happen, right? Kate could be the key, step one, and everything else would stack neatly around her like a Tetris game of fate. For a brief, hopeful moment, her hand sweating against Kate’s, Max wanted to believe it. Max did believe it. It was real. It was good. She had done it.

Then someone said, “Look, holy shit!” And Max heard that familiar sound, like trains coming back from a long, sudden tunnel that appeared in the middle of a bay and tracked right through their chests. Prickling horror down every invisible pore along Max’s back. Kate’s grip loosened as everyone moved towards the window. The yo-yo of motion as everyone suddenly ran screaming towards the hall. 

Max stood up, tears hot in the corners of her eyes. ‘Goddamnit.’

Blurry vision and eyelashes stuck together, she started to dig into her bag. It didn’t matter what photo. Why bother? What was the fucking point. No point. No fucking point. It was all-

That must’ve been when the tree came through the window, smashing into her side, shattered glass screaming across her shoulder and her neck, that distinct crack of a bone as it breaks. Heart rate spiking and head turning towards the fuzzy glow of nothing and nowhere, Max pitched herself forwards, cutting her hands across the broken window frame, and falling forwards out of the building.

Lying there, wet concrete leaving an impression in her skin, Hayden screaming. “Max! Get the fuck up! Come on!” terror’s tone unmistakable in Hayden’s voice, he lifted her to her feet.

Wobbling, she could barely focus on Hayden as he shouted, "Lean on me! I'm gonna get us to the dorm, OK?"

“No, I gotta... Let me... Hayden, let me go...” she said, voice echoing inside her sound chamber skull.

"Max, don't be crazy right now! Just- Look, you're hurt, OK?"

"Hayden, I'm OK. I just... need a second..." The world formed up around her, slowly. Shapes and sound became clearer. People rushed by. Wind sliced everything down. ‘Move, Max,’ she thought. ‘Find a photo. Get out of here.’ But her attention was dispersed into the chaos. The human drama. Disposable, meaningless human drama.

To her left Juliet was screaming. It was the unearthly sort of scream you only hear in songs and movies. Yet here she was, hair flying wildly in the wind, being uselessly pulled away by Zachary. Dana lay slumped backwards in an arch over the railing, eyes open forever, with an endless fearful gaze at the roiling wind. Juliet managed to get her hand on Dana's leg, tripping down to her knees as she struggled out of Zach's hands.

With one last concerned look at Max, Hayden ran up and frantically pulled Juliet away. She clawed wildly at the pair, shrieking Dana's name over and over as they dragged her towards the dormitory through the stinging torrent of raindrops.

Creaking with the sound of bent metal and the rumble of collapsing brick, Blackwell crumpled behind them, a girl Max didn't know barely managing to clear a broken window before it became a pile of twisted debris. Here it all was. The promise of the world unmade as Max had seen it in her visions, wind always sweeping in fast, and unexpected to everyone but Max, always laying them to waste.

Digging into her bag, still fortuitously at her hip somehow, Max’s camera fell to the ground, shattered lens scattering before it even landed. Blood from her gashed up hands soaked into the fabric and onto the contents. It didn’t matter. She found what she needed. Blue butterfly in a bathroom. OK. This was it.

Slick from the bleeding, the photo flew out of her hands in the wind. Max grasped at it, wincing from the pain that wracked her body. Every breath more ragged than the last, she dashed after the Polaroid that bounced and spun across the grass. Fear that she couldn’t keep up with the picture began to overtake her foggy thoughts.

Taylor.

The photo caught against the back of Taylor’s leg. Knelt down on the ground, her back to Max, she shivered in the wind and rain. And of course Victoria was with her- on her back, right arm twisted under her body, legs curled to the side where she fell. And there was the branch, two feet long and sticking out of the center of her torso, violent red soaking her shirt.

Picking up the photo that had come to rest under Taylor’s shoe, Max tried to speak. Nothing came.

Fingers shaking as she ran them along Victoria’s face, already white, Taylor cried silently. “I’m sorry,” she muttered quietly, a sob in her throat that hiccuped out.

‘Fuck,’ Max thought, a new pain forming somewhere in her chest not caused by her injuries. Gripping the photo in both hands, she tried to focus on the butterfly. ‘Just go back. Just go, Max. Just-’

“Max!” someone shouted, and she shifted her attention to the devastation once more. Standing there at its center was Kate Marsh.

“Kate,” Max barely said, stumbling back up to her feet and through the wind to the girl with her ripped up clothes, a cut on her face, bare leg bleeding down into a white sock.

And Kate was crying. Turning back to the newly gouged horizon, it seemed like another tornado was inbound. She pressed her hands against her face and spoke words indecipherable.

‘Focus, Max,” she thought to herself looking back down at the photo, ‘You have to go back.’

“I’m sorry, Max,” Kate said, grabbing her hand, a panicked look of remorse across her face. The fire of a wound that cannot heal shot through Max. “I could’ve stopped this."

“What are you talking about!” Max shouted back, almost incredulous.

Kate shook her head and buried her face back against her palms. More debris flew past them and cut into Logan who had frozen next to Dana’s body.

“He told me I could save you, or I could save myself. But I didn’t want... I just...”

“Kate! This isn’t-”

But she wasn’t listening. She’d begun walking out towards the coming storm, the rising tide. “Max, I’m sorry."

And leaning down, arm forward, Kate pressed into the rain. Max watched, unable to keep up, and the wall of water made her disappear.

‘Oh fuck,’ Max thought, fingers numb and head throbbing. 'Forget it, Max. Go!'

Staring down at the photo, Max focused. Slowly, she felt the storm grow quiet. Her side stopped hurting. Her hands grew steadier and steadier. Damp clothes and blood and bruises faded.

The women’s bathroom. A blue butterfly before her illuminated by a camera flash. Seconds passed and it fluttered towards the sinks. Max wretched violently into the bucket it had rested on.

That was Monday. As it turned out, a girl spewing vomit was more effective at stopping tatted up loose cannon friends and gun-toting psychos from ruining or ending their lives than a fire alarm. The smell was so bad that Nathan threw up too, which raised immediate questions about why he was in the women's restroom. And, in the way that events sometimes unfold, revealed to David Madsen that he was carrying a gun.

In a funny way, Max felt she already had a jump on this particular week. Even if she felt like shit, and her mouth tasted like acid for the rest of the day.

Laying in Victoria's bed six days later, watching as she rooted around in her bag, Max felt oddly peaceful. Why not? This was it. She had stopped the storm. Chloe wasn't dead. And maybe best of all she'd managed for the second time ever to get Victoria on her back and squirming. Hell. 75% was passing.

Strangest, she wasn't even sure she felt completely responsible for Kate anymore. It wasn't a particular point of pride that she hadn't saved her. But maybe she couldn't be saved. Dozens of weeks of empirical evidence seemed to be screaming that conclusion. Gulping hard, Max still felt that deep blue shade of guilt that falls across the heart. No matter how detached she'd become as a casual time traveler, it still felt wrong that Kate be cut down mercilessly, time and time again, by the inescapable cold of the universe.

Max felt her head growing heavy again, with sleep or with thought, she couldn't decide. Laying there naked, eyes half closed, watching the gorgeous wannabe-monster rifle through her stuff, she decided it wasn't worth thinking about it. This was reality now. This was the final draft. No more rewriting from the start. No more scrapping another version that nobody would ever read.

Plus, she'd lose the chance to catch this little shit rummaging through her stuff with impunity. Not a chance.

There in the light so smooth and even, warm and calming, Victoria leveled an old Polaroid camera at Max, body fully exposed. 

Max wanted to laugh. This girl. She couldn't even believe the gall. Still, it was sort of cute, the way she leveled her shots. Max had watched her before. Victoria had this way of setting up just so when she was serious about a photo. Her fingers. It was all in the fingers. Tiny adjustments up and down and side to side. Like a sniper, she'd exhale and shoot.

"Are you gonna take the shot or pay somebody else to do it?"

For a moment Max's heart jumped as Victoria fumbled to keep hold of her camera.

"Fuck you Max! I thought you were asleep," Victoria panted out, embarrassed, holding a hand to her chest after a few seconds.

Something about this moment was honest. Something about it was sweet. It was so real. Briefly, Max considered rewinding to relive it. 'Don't cheapen it. Live,' she thought.

"Cute. I'll close my eyes again," Max exhaled slowly, content. "You've got ten seconds. Impress me."

Stretching, eyes closed, she listened to a clock tick in her head. Seconds that would pass and never be lived again. How could something like that be precious? Time marched her forwards again. The future. That's what she had now. Halloween. Thanksgiving. Christmas. Snow that wasn't a freak anomaly. Rainy days that didn't mean the world was ending. Years, maybe. Days, for sure. Days that mattered. Moments that she could share.

The camera clicked and her body, this moment, was preserved. A memory. That was the only way she'd be back here again. Oh thank god, thank god. She’d never be back here again.

Max opened her eyes.

"I guess we have a few things to talk about now."

Victoria made that trademark face- half scowl, half surprise, like an offended bar patron who got the wrong drink. "Yes," she began, her voice convicted and strong. "Like, for example, how you know my middle name."

"Holy shit, Victoria!" Max laughed, hand on her face. "I meant like 'morning after a hookup' type stuff. Like 'what are we' stuff. You're worried about how I know your middle name? Seriously?"

"It's a fair question Max. Somebody told you, and I want to know who," Victoria stated, completely sure of herself.

Sitting up, feeling a slight chill with the air against her body, Max yawned. "I don't know. Maybe somebody told me. Maybe I read it somewhere. Who cares? Aren't you more interested in-"

"Don't be desperate, Maxine. Obviously I don't have to tell you that this meant nothing and won't be repeated. And if you ever tell anyone, I'm going to-"

"Ugh, seriously?" Max asked, taking her rewind for a spin much earlier in the day than she wanted to. Hand up, she slowed the spinning to a stop.

"Don't be desperate, Maxine. Obviously I don't have to tell you that-"

"This meant nothing, it won't be repeated, and if I tell anyone you'll blah blah blah. Yeah, I get it, Victoria. Let's not waste half the morning posturing." Max stood up and started to replace all the items in her bag that Victoria had removed, beginning with the Polaroid camera she took straight from her hands.

Clearly acting as if she was completely taken aback, Victoria spat, "Ugh, enough with the mind-reading bullshit Max! You're driving me crazy."

A quick jolt through her insides, Max scolded herself. 'Easy on the time travel stuff, genius.' Turning to Victoria, she sneered. "Like you'd need to be a mind reader to figure out the stuff you're going to say? You're basically a bad made-for-TV teen drama script with a body."

Victoria looked as if she was formulating a response, so Max held up her hand. "Look. Last night was not what I was expecting either. But we've done this rivalry crap long enough. So I'm done with it. Believe whatever you want to about all this."

Silence overtook them. Clumsily, Max trundled through the room trying to put her clothes on. Victoria said nothing. After the space had passed and Max was no longer naked, Victoria breathed as if she was about to speak, but then didn't.

Crossing the room again and grabbing her bag, Max started towards the door. A tug at her wrist, soft fingers against her skin, she stopped and met Victoria's look. It was serious, without guile.

"I'm in a confusing situation, OK? Like we talked about? So... please don't talk about this until I sort things out with Taylor. We might-"

"Hey," Max attempted to sound consoling, "look, it's fine. And I won't say anything. Let's just see where things go. I'm at a place where I'm just seeing where life takes me anyway. So, I guess we’re just… feeling it out? God, OK, I couldn’t have picked worse words."

Victoria laughed, genuinely and happily, pushing Max at her hip. “That was the worst thing you’ve said in a while.”

Kissing Victoria's forehead (she frowned), Max said, "We'll catch up later. I gotta get a shower and do some stuff." And with a strange tingle in her spine as she walked away, Max opened the door and found herself face to face with Taylor.

Sex hair, generally worn out look, clothes wrinkled and barely on, shoes in hand. Max didn't have to think very hard about how obvious this looked. 'Shit.'

"... Max? What the fuck?" Taylor exclaimed, noise echoing down the quiet hallway.

Wordless, Max stood, mouth agape, heart pounding. Fortunately, she didn't have to think about words for very long. With a crack, Taylor's fist slammed into her nose, sending pain screaming along 10,000 nerves Max was previously unaware existed.

"What the hell are you doing, Taylor!" Victoria shouted, rushing across the room and grabbing her by the arms.

"Fuck you! Get off of me!" Taylor screeched, kicking at Victoria's shins until she let go with a yelp.

'Shit. Ugh!' Max tried desperately to think clearly through the pain and the stream of blood pouring from her nose. Thrusting her hand up she pushed herself clear of the door and rewound faster than she'd rewound in a long time. The pain faded, its ghost lingering in her repaired body.

"Max, what the hell are you doing on the floor? Did you fall or something? Or is walking too mainstream?" Victoria laughed, baffled.

"I wanted to see how it felt to be you on a Friday night. Sorry, I'm not impressed," Max muttered, irritated. Hand up, she froze time, standing. 'No time for this. I gotta get out of here.'

Focusing with every step, she opened the door and, carefully, slid past Taylor who was standing there, eyes pained and looking worried. 'Jesus. What has Victoria done to this girl?' she thought, pressing past and into her own room. Door closed, she let go. The pressure in her head subsided. She started to feel normal again.

Grabbing her phone from inside her bag, she threw her things on the floor. It was early still, but she didn't want to waste time. Urgency wasn't a feeling that had left her for as long as she could remember- which was ironic considering she controlled the flow of time. Quickly, she threw on her shower things, grabbed her caddy, and stepped back out into the hall.

Taylor and Victoria were there, something like a craze in Victoria's eyes. Max laughed to herself.

"Hey Max," Taylor said, casually. It was one of those things that challenged and hurt Max’s brain to think about the semantics necessary to describe the idea ‘A few minutes ahead of now, Taylor wanted to kill me,’ or ‘35 seconds into the future, Taylor will have broken my nose.’ Thank god all of that nonsense was going to disappear.

“Hey Taylor,” Max smiled. Then, unable to help herself, she grinned. “Good morning, Victoria.”

Scoffing, Victoria’s lip snarled, and she said “It could’ve been, I suppose. But then I interacted with you.” She turned and looked away from Max.

“Oh we interacted. And it was super hot, Maribeth.”

Whirling back, face blood red, Victoria was silent, mouth wide.

Laughing, Max rewound quickly. “You’re brave, Victoria.” Leaving the pair behind, she made it to the bathroom.

Empty. That wet smell. She used to hate it. Now it was a comfort. Constants. All constants had some comfort, no matter how twisted or strange. Showers. The cold that always hit her before the warm kicked in. Swirling water dragging soap and dirt down forever. Once, Max tried to think about how many times she’d washed off the same dirt, but it made her head hurt to imagine all the imaginary lines she’d have to plot between points she’d visit, revisit, or never visit again.

Water running down her bare skin, she thought of the one consistent point of every week. Chloe. Needless to think, ‘Isn’t she just a friend, Max?’ Of course it was more than that- especially some hundreds of days later. Yet here Max was, scrubbing another girl off her skin. She felt nothing. It bothered her. Shouldn’t the guilt be overwhelming?

‘Jesus. No. No fucking way at all. Are you serious?’

Dozens of times crawling down that road? To a death-prone blueberry baby? And she meant baby both ways. There were times she couldn’t keep her breath. Oh god. That girl. Like a long, warm scarf in a snowstorm, illuminated by old lamppost lights in a dark, dark night for two girls in love who wanted each other madly walking step by step by step towards a room of candles and blankets and ‘Max, I love you’s.’ Oh baby. Oh baby.

And then, there was that other way. Manipulative, pathetic, always bitching. You fucking baby. One time Max had punched a wall in frustration over Chloe, just to see if it was as cathartic as it always seemed like it would be.

It was not.

After her bones weren’t broken anymore, she decided that wasn’t any way to solve her problems. No. Better to punch someone else. But who? Her poor, damaged, irreparable best friend? You know, the one suffering miserably from the loss of a father and a girl she was deeply in love with? Just because her crush would forever be unrequited? Good plan, Max. Especially considering that the closest she had come to approaching ‘forever’ was replaying the same week of her life over and over.

Anger didn’t make sense. In those moments, she wanted it to make sense. But it never did. It just wasn’t her.

Most times, Max just felt sad. Rachel Amber. Rachel Amber. Every damn time, she was holding her down and under in the tepid, lukewarm memory of someone who was, by all accounts, a lovely person and an inspiring, frenetic spirit shackled by nothing but her own habits. Easy to see why Chloe fell for her. Easy to see why anyone would.

Which, of course, made it easy for anyone to hate her.

In a way, Max felt her attraction to Victoria was almost justified by her love/hate oscillation of emotions about Rachel Amber. To think that there was ever a point where she’d judged Victoria for having a missing poster of Rachel with the word bitch written on it.

‘Preach it, sistah,’ Max laughed to herself, almost sick at the detached irony she’d come to embody.

Ending the shower meant another minute closer to seeing Chloe. Not that she wanted to. Not that she didn’t want to. Today, she had to. By Max’s estimate, this would be the day that everyone would find out about Rachel Amber. She’d done the whole ‘revelation’ thing a few times. It wasn’t much of a gamble anymore. The only wild card was what wild reaction Chloe would have.

Drying quickly, Max threw back on the clothes she’d worn to the shower and headed back to the hall. Taylor and Victoria were coming her way, a look of disgust on Taylor’s face.

"Max, just wear the towel. That's disgusting," she exclaimed, her expression almost pained

Good lord. These two.

"I do this, you do Victoria. We both do gross things. No need to talk about it."

The anger spreading across Taylor’s typically-soft features nearly frightened Max. Hand up, she froze time and dashed to her room, not letting go until the door clicked home. Laughing, she exhaled. How long she’d be able to do the ‘time thing’ was a constant concern. But so long as she had it, at least she could have fun. Right? Positivity. That was the ticket.

Positivity. That’s what would get her through the visit she was about the endure. Another round of distraught Chloe. So. That was… Fuck. How the fuck to frame that positively?

The 90's emo played steadily in her ears as she boarded the bus some ten minutes later. It seemed appropriate somehow that as months of rewinding the same week wore on and on she'd had to look backwards in time for music. Not like anything new was going to come out anytime soon.

Perhaps that more than anything was a good enough reason to call it quits. Get that storm-free week and just call it. New music. Gotta get some new music.

Laughing a little to herself, a habit she had tried to maintain long after the time jokes felt more like horror than humor, Max leaned her head against the cool window, breath fogging a straight line. Never quite tired, never quite awake, she rode in the hazy, not-fully-there twilight that plagues all time travelers. As the only authority on the issue that she was aware of, her empirical research made blanket statements like this one acceptable. Nobody could refute them, anyway. Another time joke she was having trouble laughing at.

Moments like this were the kind that used to beg for introspection. Lately she'd done everything she could to avoid that sort of thing, otherwise questions like "How old am I now?" and "Wait, did I save Kate on this timeline?" or "Did I remember to rewind after hooking up with Dana?" would fill her thoughts.

In particular, Max had surprised herself with the constant necessity of the last question. Human contact had become a sort of forgivable addiction- at least, she hoped it was forgivable. After what must've been about seven tries (some ending Wednesday, some Friday, one a full ten days out) Max felt an odd tugging towards all the people around her. Even people she despised started to seem appealing somehow. The paradox of knowing these people intimately and having them barely know her at all was a prospect that Max would've loved before all the time travel. Now it just underlined the loneliness that was rising fast, like a flood of dirty creek water in a storm.

The obvious first choice for an interlude of the physical variety was Chloe. As it turned out, that was not how it went. In the dying light of day, eyes wet with the sorrow of her forever-doomed existence, Kate had looked too beautiful. There, sitting on her couch, Max couldn't help it. She kissed her.

And Kate didn't seem to particularly care what the book of Leviticus said. Not rewinding that experience an 8th (or maybe 9th) time had been a real challenge. Timid Kate really knew what she was about where Max was concerned.

That was a good memory. The time she'd tried the same on Chloe wasn't.

Aside from the not-particularly-well-received peck on the lips, Max had only broached the topic with Chloe once. They'd been in her bed, cuddled up like a dozen times before (none of which Chloe remembered) and Max found her hand on Chloe's bare waist. Being there, close and connected to the warm body of the girl she'd easily fallen for over and over, the smell of her house and of Chloe herself so familiar and intoxicating, Max felt her hand sliding downward along the smooth skin without thinking.

Max's fingers reaching her waistband, Chloe started to say "Easy there, Max. Isn't it a little early to-"

Another sentence among thousands that would never be finished, falling down among weeks that met the same fate. Lips against Chloe's again, Max pulled her forward by the hair, other hand pressed down into her shorts and between her legs. A rush of blood flooding her head, that sound of non-existent wind in her ears, Max kissed Chloe the way the sea kisses a town through a broken levee.

For a moment Chloe reciprocated, hips squirming against Max's touch, rhythmic and steady. But something changed, subtly at first, but undeniable, like the creeping static in a leg that's fallen asleep. Hands against her shoulders, Chloe pressed firmly, then a few seconds later she pulled away from the kiss entirely.

"Max... Just hold on, OK?"

Leaning up, her own hands pulling back, Max asked, "Are you OK?"

Silent, Chloe gripped Max's wrist, and Max pulled her hand out of Chloe's shorts. Sitting down next to her on the bed, Max wasn't certain what to say. Embarrassed and overwhelmed, she raised her hand and started to rewind.

"I'm sorry Max," Chloe said, not a moment too soon. "Look. It's not that I'm not into it. I'm into it. I just... Look, you get it, right?" She tried to subtly wipe away the tears, failed miserably, gave up and put her hands against her eyes.

Lowering her hand, Max wrapped Chloe up in a hug. "It's OK... It's Rachel, right?"

Chloe just nodded against Max's chest.

"I'm sorry, Chloe," she said, throat tight, cheeks still red. "I didn't think. I should've thought harder."

"Yeah, well, I guess even nerds aren't very smart sometimes," Chloe smiled sadly, eyes red as she pulled away.

Bus hitting a pothole, Max's skull banged against the glass. Rubbing her head with a wince, she skipped a track that she didn't particularly like. Had she known that pothole was coming? Surely she knew that. Maybe she knew that? Who cares. She'd probably taken this bus ride before. A few times she'd let Sunday morning come and go.

Maybe this was a good thing. Maybe this was the last time she'd live this Sunday. She wanted it to be. The bus slowed and its inertia faded with a lurch. Rising, Max exited the bus, one foot before the other, legs feeling stiff.

Maybe she really was older now.

Chloe saw her coming, seated on the porch, a cigarette glowing in the hazy morning light. "I get it at last," she said, looking at the ground, foot scraping back and forth, grinding ants into unnoticeable dust.

Stepping up to her, Max tried to think of something to say. Her eyes were red with tears, and Max was reasonably sure she knew why. Of course she knew why. She'd shared this moment with Chloe a dozen times or more. On their knees in dirt, digging at rot and waste and nothing.

"Aren't you going to ask me what I get?" she asked, the cigarette burning down towards her lips where it rested.

"Ok... Tell me, Chloe."

"The universe can't help itself. That's what I get. Like, bad people, right? Bad people do bad things. The universe is just the bigger version of that. Scientists say it's growing, right? They say that. But what's it growing into? Nothing. There's nothing. But it just cuts that nothing open and bleeds into it. No mercy. No fucking mercy for anything. Not in, not out."

This never got any easier. Inconsolable. That's all Chloe ever was after she found out. Not that Max expected her to take it any better. Several times she'd even tried to conceal the fact that Rachel was dead. It didn't usually wait. The universe that was carving up the cold nothing like an icy knife couldn't leave her under the ground where she'd been and where she'd be again. Point A to Point B. Same result. Just some added damage in the transfer- and not damage to Rachel.

It was fair to say that, in these moments, Max despised the ghost of Rachel Amber.

"I'm sorry, Chloe. I heard. I... I'm so sorry," she sat down next to her on the step, taking her hand.

But Chloe pulled away and stood up. "Why are you here, Max," she asked, no answer expected or wanted.

Conveniently, Max wouldn't have to figure out how to answer. Joyce opened the front door.

"Max? Well, at least something good happened today. Chloe, are-"

"Go inside, Joyce. Go with her, Max."

The command was clear. And even if the timing wouldn't be horrific, Max didn't feel up to fighting Chloe anyway. She'd tried that too- several times, in fact- and it went as well as could be expected.

Joyce had no such internal dilemma. "Be fair, Chloe. I know you're hurting, but your friend came out to you this morning because she wants to h-"

Chloe snapped back, "Yeah, Max is a great example of someone who wants to be there for people in pain. She definitely helped last time. You remember, when Dad died? Just absolute-"

Joyce waved her off, interrupting, "You believe whatever helps you, Chloe. But your friend is here now when you are in need of a friend. The world has taken a lot from you, sweetheart. Don't ignore the things it gave back."

“You read that in a Dr. Bill book?” Seconds passed and the two stared at each other. Dropping her cigarette and grinding it into the dust, down with the ants, Chloe turned and stepped away. "Just go inside. I need a few more minutes, alright?"

Max felt Joyce's hand on her shoulder, guiding her towards the door. "Come inside for a few minutes then, Max. Chloe…” Considering her words for a moment, mouth open, Joyce said, “just come inside with us honey.”

Stepping into the kitchen, Joyce sat down on a stool at the island, shuffling salt and pepper shakers to the wall and patting for Max to sit down across from her. The newspaper had Rachel’s picture on the front, sitting on the kitchen table, barely touched.

“I’m sorry, Joyce. It’s… Chloe really loved her. I can see that,” Max recited, feeling cheap somehow.

Waving, Joyce shook her head, eyes glassy. “Max, that girl was always gonna go out this way… Young, I mean. That’s how she lived. She was so wild. I worried about her.” She looked out the window to her left and fell quiet for a moment. “I wanted to believe she’d run off. Chloe never did. But I don’t think she realized that girl was running around on her. Not that they were exclusive, mind you. Nobody could tie that girl to anyone or anything for too long.”

With great effort, Max managed to not sound sarcastic. “Yeah. I heard she was something else. A trip.”

Joyce smiled wistfully. “That’s a good way to put it Max. I don’t know if you’d have fallen under her spell though. You’ll meet a lot of people who live like the world is a big storm waiting to swallow them whole. They don’t fascinate people who have a level head. And you’ve always had a level head, Max.” Twirling the salt shaker idly between her fingers, Joyce spoke softly, “I wish Chloe had taken after you more. But I don’t blame you for living your life.”

‘Which excuse to give this time?’ Max thought, starting to feel like her body was a shell and her eyes were observing from somewhere over her shoulder.

But it wasn’t necessary to say anything. Spilling the salt shaker onto the counter, Joyce swept it off onto the floor with her palm. “I used to tell William to go easy on the salt when we’d eat. I even stopped cooking with it for a while. Everything tasted bland, he’d say. But I was worried. I didn’t want his high blood pressure to… I mean, you never know what matters and what doesn’t, Max.”

Thinking about William still made Max choke up a bit. Clearing her throat, she said “I’m sorry, Joyce. I know you’re suffering in all this too. It must be… I don’t know how you do it. You’re stronger than I am.”

Waving her off, Joyce slid the salt back to the pepper. “We both know you’re wrong about that, Max.”

“Are you two done with the mother-daughter bonding?” Chloe asked, rolling her eyes as she stepped into the room.

“Chloe,” Joyce admonished her, sounding exhausted.

“I’m going for a drive. Max, if you’re coming, let’s go. Or, you know, you could stay here and talk about more girls you never knew with Joyce.” She turned and walked back down the hall.

Max bristled internally. ‘Yes. A girl I didn’t know. Good point, Chloe.’

Standing up, Max walked past Joyce who gently took hold of her wrist.

“I don’t have to tell you to take care of that girl, just like you don’t have to tell me you’re going to,” she nodded.

Max nodded back. “Bye, Joyce.”

“I’ll see you, Max.”

The front door closing behind Max, she quickly stepped over to and into the truck. Chloe already had music playing. It was loud, and little else. Max couldn’t make out any words. It had the distinct feel of a local band, and not a particularly talented one. Before her foray into time travel, that would’ve grated on Max’s nerves. Since then, however, she liked to tell herself, she had become more well-rounded.

Pressing the gas much harder than was necessary, Chloe peeled out of the driveway and into the hazy Arcadia Bay morning. As the trees whizzed by and the features of buildings and people and cars seemed to blur, Max appreciated the silence. This felt needless. It felt arduous. It felt done and redone, read and replied. It felt like staying up all night to type a paper and never hitting save before closing it out.

Another good reason. Yes. That realization alone would’ve shaken her loose from the ever-tightening coil of time more than any reset fatigue could.

“These guys sound good,” Max said, attempting to lie the chill out of the air.

“I don’t care,” Chloe muttered, barely audible.

“Why’d you let me come if you didn’t want to talk?” Max asked, trying to measure every word against the current reality, and not the collected realities.

“So Joyce wouldn’t stop me from leaving. She thinks you’ll stop me from doing something stupid,” Chloe said, eyes still glued to the road from her leaned back position. Her fingers barely hung on the wheel, and Max felt a slight twinge of peril. In her mind she hoped she’d be fast enough to rewind the impending car crash.

“I don’t know. I don’t think I’ve ever been a good influence in that department,” Max tried to laugh.

Frowning, Chloe said “No, definitely you haven’t but...” her features softened a bit, “that was a good thing. You know. Pirates and all.”

“I feel more like a space pirate lately,” Max joked.

And Chloe rolled her eyes, “Jesus Max. Hit me with another one. I’m not suffering enough. I need your lame jokes to sustain the pain.”

Laughing, Max shouted over the music, “Nice rhyme, Chloe. You have a promising rap career ahead of you.”

“Thank you, I’ve always been proud of my elocution,” she raised her hand in a fake bow, momentarily leaving the wheel free to live without limits.

And Max practically spat. “Why do you even know that word!”

“Fuck you very much, Max Caulfield. I know plenty of words. Like fuck, and you. That’s just for starters.”

“Please, Ms. Price, would you diagram that sentence for me?”

“OK. Again. Fuck you, Max.”

The two of them laughed together, and Chloe laid off the gas. Breathing deep, Chloe exhaled hard, remembering herself.

“I appreciate the effort Max. I’ve been kind of a-”

“Kind of a huge bitch,” Max offered, helpfully.

Glaring, Chloe picked up, “Yes, and I’m sorry I guess. It’s just… Whatever. Let’s go somewhere. Where do you want to go?”

“Well, we’ve already seen enough moms for one day. So not Olive Garden.”

Half-smiling, Chloe said, “Not unless you’re paying anyway. My broke ass can’t afford anything. Mom even puts the gas in the truck. Anyway. Where are we going?”

“The lighthouse,” Max said, not sure of why. Quickly, she raised her hand, but then lowered it. ‘Live with it. Learn to control your mouth again,’ she scolded herself, frustrated.

“OK…” Chloe said, stretching the O out as long as it could reasonably be stretched.

Turning, she guided the truck down tree-lined roadways drenched in partly-cloudy sunlight. As the lighthouse appeared in the distance, Max felt like she might be sick. Judging by the sudden lack of color in her cheeks, Chloe seemed to feel the same. For a moment Max wondered if she remembered anything- anything at all- about all the weeks they’d lived together.

But she just parked and hopped out of the truck, and Max dismissed the notion entirely.

Up the hill, and on the bench, they stared together, out over the bay, sun slowly returning to the ocean. The silence felt awkward and heavy again.

"It's weird to have you back here, Max," Chloe said, sleeve wiping the tears she evidently couldn't hold back anymore. "Why did you even come find me today?”

"Chloe, that's… because I heard about Rachel. And I know you loved her." Max said, looking away from Chloe, eyes locked on the shake of dead grass near her feet, kicked endlessly by the wind.  
“Love her,” Chloe said immediately. Then she didn’t say anything.

Pausing for a moment, Max continued. “Yes. You love her. And I love you. Even if I’ve been terrible at showing it. I love you. So I came to you.”

“... You’re pretty bad at showing it.”

Sighing, Max said, “Yes. I just said that.”

Trying to smile, Chloe failed, then gave up. Max couldn’t help but feel like that single act symbolized Chloe’s entire life somehow

The sound of wind overtook them for a moment and Chloe said, “You know, I had this dream. I was gonna tell her. But I didn't. We just ended up making out or something... I wished for a while that I had told her. This whole time since she left-" and Chloe paused, swallowing. "This whole time she's been gone I thought I'd feel better if I did. But now I'm just grateful I didn't."

Turning, Max looked up at Chloe where she leaned back on the bench, eyes on the sky. “What was it?”

Chloe stared up, silently thinking, and said, “I’m already going to regret all this crying shit later. Don’t push it.”

“Come on,” Max said, gently taking her hand. “I’m not going to say anything.”

Pulling away, Chloe said, “We were… just happy. Really happy. And I think we were at a wedding maybe. Everyone was around us. I don’t know who they were, but we knew them all, and they all knew us. My mom and my dad were there. We held hands and somebody said we’d be happy together, just the two of us. And…” she paused, eyes closed. “It was simple. It didn’t have some hidden message. It wasn’t some fucking cigar store Freud shit. I was just- I had somebody I loved, and I was enough for them. They didn’t leave. Do you- I mean, look. Whatever.”

“Hey,” Max spoke softly, “that sounds really sweet. I wish my dreams could be that good.”

“You don’t need them to be. Your life already is. Mine isn’t. At least it isn’t now.”

Max didn’t bother trying to argue. “I know that I can’t take her place Chloe. But I’ll do whatever I can to make your life happy again. I’m sure in time we’ll find a way.” In her heart, Max knew that one thing she had said was a lie, and the other thing she had said was very true.

Chloe shivered. Seconds passed, and she replied, “Thanks Max. I guess we’ll see.”

Birds circled high over the bay. Max and Chloe together, and separate, stared out over the rolling water. Sunlight flickering across the surface, Max could still feel a storm somewhere behind her eyes. She worried that it would always be there.

Clearing her throat, Chloe said, “Let’s get out of here. Come on. I’ll drop you back at Blackwell. You’re just hopping out though. I don’t want to run into my step-douche.”

“Even David has to treat you better today,” Max said, frowning.

“You’d think,” Chloe said, drily.

The music, and the ride, were very quiet on the way back. Neither girl spoke. In her mind, Max couldn’t believe she’d managed to leave their friendship at this point. It was so easy to be close to Chloe. This was not easy.

‘Then again,’ she thought with a cynical eye roll, ‘might make it all a little easier.’

The pair arrived at Blackwell. Chloe stopped the truck, eyes still forward. She didn’t speak. Max opened the door and hopped out, waving at Chloe as she closed it. And Chloe finally met her gaze.

“I’ll talk to you soon, OK?”

“OK. I’m here. Just say the word,” Max spoke reassuringly.

Slowly, the truck pulled away and back onto the road. There was a lump in Max’s throat. It felt like a breakup, somehow. ‘Maybe it was,’ she thought.

The air crisp, she turned towards the school. Walking on and on, she thought of Chloe, of memories that didn’t exist, and of the odd way the whole week had turned out. Without thinking, Max found herself standing in front of Victoria's door. Evidently her feet had carried her there. It kind of annoyed her. But at this point she couldn't be sure she had anyone closer in her life. Realization of this fact made her shudder and seriously reconsider her "final run" decision.

First, she knocked. Shaking her head, she quickly rewound and just walked in.

Victoria, seated at her computer, turned around and leveled a raised eyebrow at Max as the door closed.

"Back just like she left," Victoria scoffed, turning back to her computer. "Don't think I'm not pissed at you just because Taylor-"

"Victoria, shut up please," Max muttered as she shuffled across the room and sank down against the covers, kicking her shoes off.

Rolling her eyes, Victoria said, "Don't tell me you're heartbroken about some bitch you didn't know. I'm not about to listen to one more teary-eyed sob about Rachel Amber."

Groaning, Max rolled over, closing her eyes tight.

Loudly, Victoria spat, "Don't get things twisted, Caulfield. You don't have carte blanche. Get out of my room. When I want you, I’ll come find you. Which isn’t likely to happen unless I’m dying to smell dollar store perfume." A satisfied look settled across her face as she pointed to the door in an unreasonably dramatic fashion.

‘Jesus,’ Max thought, hand up and rewinding from Victoria’s bed twice in the same day. ‘Is this girl seriously trying to eject me from her room?’

“Don’t get things twisted, Caulfield. You don’t-”

"Victoria, I don't care about Rachel Amber," Max droned out. "Can I just lay here a minute?"

There was a silence, and Victoria started typing again. "Whatever. I'm trying to make this essay smarter anyway. What am I even paying for anymore? I could've produced this while hung over and vomiting in a trash can."

Low tones of Victoria muttering. A breeze through the window. The softest sheets Max had ever touched (twice) against her face. Slowly, she felt her body sliding away against a smooth current, warm and comforting. The sea approached and it was whispering her name.

"Max?" Victoria whispered, lips against her ear.

Stirring, Max rolled onto her back. Victoria was next to her in the bed, arm around her waist. In her sleep she hadn't noticed. Awake now, she left Victoria's arm in place, leaning up on her elbows to look at her.

"Was I out for a while?" she asked, closing her eyes again in spite of herself. Naps never worked for Max. They always left her feeling emptied out and exhausted.

"Only as long as it took me to make Courtney's work usable. So, a while," Victoria laughed.

Letting her elbows fall under her, Max fell back gently and tried again to keep her eyes open. "Mm. Sorry. Just needed it I guess."

"Aww," Victoria teased, running her hand down Max's face, "did I keep baby Maxine up too late?"

"Let's pretend it was you keeping me up," Max smiled, eyes still heavy and thoughts sluggish.

Laying down next to Max and staring up at the ceiling, Victoria laced their fingers together and asked, "What do you want to do tonight? That is, assuming I decide to spend the evening with you."

"I hadn't really thought about it, I guess. I mean, you'd think that I would've. But I guess I never really thought about what the other side would be like," Max spoke, as if something very big had just occurred to her.

And Victoria made a sound with her throat, saying, "Listen. What we did was nice, but it's not like the world is different today. Sorry to hurt your ego, Maxine, but the world didn't change."

Undeterred, Max pressed on. "I thought I'd feel a little different I guess. I don't. I just feel normal. I'm sad that Kate died. And I wish that Chloe and I could've... I don't know. It doesn't matter. That's what I feel like. I feel like it doesn't feel like anything."

Leaning up now, face scrunched and concerned. "Max, what are you talking about? You're being a space cadet."

Hand up, Max held it there for a moment. Turning her head she kissed Victoria slowly until she pulled away, a look of confusion still dominating her face.

Time spun back slowly, measured. Max let up and ran her fingers through her hair, feeling her other hand against Victoria's still.

"What do you want to do tonight? That is, assuming I decide to spend the evening with you."

Max laughed to herself, rolling to her side and kissing Victoria again- a quick, soft peck.

"I don't know. Just live, I guess."


End file.
